


The Stars Watch On

by tabbygyson, UnchartedCloud



Series: What We Deserve [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Porn, Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin are Best Friends, Bisexual Clarke Griffin, Bisexual Disaster Clarke Griffin, Bisexual Raven Reyes, Canon Queer Relationship, Canon Rewrite, Canon Universe, Clarke Griffin & Raven Reyes are Best Friends, Clarke and Lexa being domestic and gross, Complete, Domestic Fluff, Endgame Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Established Octavia Blake/Lincoln, F/F, Finished, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Disaster Lexa (The 100), No Lesbians Die, Not Canon Compliant, Octavia Blake & Clarke Griffin are Best Friends, Original Character(s), POV Clarke Griffin, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Queer Friendly, Sassy Raven Reyes, but also angsty because Clarke fell in love with the Queen of Angst, but we'll flag it ahead of time, finished fic, healer clarke griffin, same with explicit sex, there will be some explicit violence in later chapters, though there's a lot more of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 182,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25916263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabbygyson/pseuds/tabbygyson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnchartedCloud/pseuds/UnchartedCloud
Summary: Now that she is the Skaikru ambassador to Polis, Clarke has the quiet winter months to build a relationship between her people and the Coalition. That would be a feat all its own, even if she weren't trying to figure out her own burgeoning relationship with the Commander at the same time. But a love like theirs was never going to be easy; when powerful enemies mobilize against them, Clarke and Lexa must find a way to save both themselves and their peoples.A canon universe fic. Also known as Nobody Dies AU. (2/3)
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Series: What We Deserve [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722700
Comments: 290
Kudos: 572





	1. She Likes Me Better Than You

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Welcome to Part II of Nobody Dies AU!
> 
> Yes that's right, this is part two: if you're new to our story and want to know how these idiots (aka Clarke and Lexa) got here, check out this work's collection to find Part I, What We Deserve. If you've already joined us for the first part of this adventure - or you just don't care - welcome! Read on!
> 
> What We Deserve is a three part story that we've been writing for just shy of two years now. What started out as a fun writing exercise between a pair of nerds that hated the way Clexa's story ended in canon has become a full length, canon universe fic that picks up just prior to the start of S3. Because really, what's the point of a slow burn if you don't get to see what happens *after?*
> 
> Where Part I was characterized by said slow burn, Part II has much more pwp going on (porn with plot? plot with porn? you decide!) with a fun side of fluff and angst. That being said, the E rating is not only for explicit sexual themes; there will also be two chapters later in the story that contain graphic violence, and we'll flag them as such when they arrive. 
> 
> Despite this, our promise remains the same: absolutely nobody dies in this alternate universe. Which is to say that some Generic Bad Guys die, because obviously, but no one that any of us care about. We came here to fix the trauma of S3, not add to it.
> 
> There will be plenty more authors' notes where this one came from, but until then - enjoy, and thanks for joining us!

Clarke had not intended to fall asleep in Lexa's bed. She hadn't intended to fall asleep in _any_ bed, let alone Lexa's. In fact, she hadn't had much of a plan for sleeping at all that night and yet is still startled when she wakes up and finds herself here — _in Lexa's bed_ .  
  
The sun of another cold, clear morning streams through the tower windows, painting the expanse of Lexa's bedroom in a soft light. The cold does not penetrate to her bare skin, however; a linen sheet separates her from a pile of animal skins, many of which had ended up on the ground the night before but now insulate her from the wind thrumming just beyond the glass. Other than that, the bed is unoccupied.  
  
Clarke can feel an edge of panic cut, cold and clear, through her grogginess as it takes her a moment to recognize where she is. Even so, waking up naked and alone in a room that is not her own leaves her on edge until...she recognizes the sound of Lexa's voice coming from the other side of the room's wooden divider. She speaks quietly in Trigedasleng, a little too quietly for Clarke to pick out specific words, and with the curtain drawn across the bedroom's opening Clarke cannot see her interlocutor. But after a moment, she hears what she thinks must be Elena's voice answering her.

The sound of Lexa’s - and to a lesser extent, Elena’s - voice soothes her panic a little. But not enough to stop her from getting up and pulling her pants back on. It takes her a moment to find them, and by the time she has them on and buttons them up Lexa walks back through the curtain.

"Clarke," she says quietly, stepping through so the curtain falls back into place behind her. She is already dressed, her hair half braided back, and she looks surprised. "Apologies - I did not mean for us to wake you."

“It’s alright, I should’ve been awake an hour ago.” Clarke fumbles with her bra but has it on in the next few seconds. “I don’t know how I slept so late, I don’t usually...” she eyes the bed, a mix of emotions fogging her mind for a moment. 

But in the next, she turns back to Lexa and forgets about her anxiety. She looks sort of half ready; dressed, but a little off kilter, a little bit of the Lexa from last night still peeking through. “I suppose it’s too much to hope for that the Commander of the Twelve Clans could ever sleep in.”

A flash of Lexa’s smile appears, but it's...hesitant. A little awkward, even, as though she isn't sure where she stands now that the light of day enters the room. " _Ever_ is a strong word," she acknowledges - but it's not a no.  
  
Seeing her dress, Lexa's eyes cast about until they find Clarke's shirt, pooled on the floor with her jacket. She picks them both up and puts the latter on the bed, while crossing to Clarke with the former. "It is early yet, though. You can take your time; I haven't even gone down to training."

“Thanks...” Clarke trails off as their fingers brush when she takes the shirt from Lexa’s hand.  
  
Lexa’s hesitation gives Clarke pause. It’s not as if she’d really planned this far after coming to Lexa’s room last night. Would Lexa expect her to leave, so that she can get ready for her day uninterrupted? Clarke is no stranger to casual sex and would, under normal circumstances, already be gone at this point. But this isn’t a normal circumstance. This is Lexa.

“Um, would you rather I…” she hooks a thumb over her shoulder at the general direction of the bedroom door. “I don’t want to derail your morning. If you would rather I didn’t, anyway.”

“No! No, it’s alright, don’t--” Lexa catches herself and cuts herself off, her face going a little pink at her outburst. She straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin, and in the process Clarke sees her all but physically rein herself back in. “Please, take your time. Elena and I are just going over the plan for the day.”

Clarke pulls on her shirt and chuckles through the fabric at the way Lexa’s voice forces itself into an entirely unconvincing attempt at casual. “Alright, I’ll take my time,” she says as she does her best to straighten out the wrinkles in the fabric. It’s clearly a losing battle, but she has nothing better to do with her hands. “So is there something in particular going on today, or is an Elena debriefing part of a regular morning?” 

The unspoken question, at least to Clarke, feels quite obvious - _Is Elena always here at this time, or is she here because Lexa disappeared with Wanheda last night?_ And with the way Lexa’s eyes cut back towards the divider, she’d guess she was right.

“It is typically how I begin my morning,” the Commander answers, and returns her attention to Clarke. “Elena helps me with my braids, and with organizing my schedule. It makes for an easier day...most days.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “But not today?”

“Today is a different sort of day,” Lexa admits, but she doesn’t elaborate. She just sort of...keeps looking at Clarke, as though she isn’t quite sure what to do with herself, or what to say. Which is certainly a strange look for the Commander of the Twelve Clans to have.

Frustrated by the sudden strangeness of this interaction, Clarke takes a tentative step into Lexa’s space. When the Commander doesn’t flinch or move away, Clarke closes the rest of the distance between them and cups her cheek, thumb gently moving across Lexa’s jawline.

“I don’t really know what to do now, either,” Clarke whispers, a soft smile on her lips. “But I do know that the only thing that’s different between now and last night is that there’s sunlight. And, I suppose, Elena.”

“She can be trusted,” Lexa is quick to say - and the fact that _that_ is the takeaway for her is enough to make Clarke shake her head.

“Obviously. I meant that I don’t feel any differently now than I did last night. I’m still here.” Instinctively, Clarke reaches for Lexa’s hand with her unoccupied one and presses it to her own chest. Her heartbeat is fast enough now, pumping with adrenaline, that she’s sure Lexa can feel it. “See? You can touch me and everything, I won’t disappear.”

There is a certain ease that falls over Lexa then, swiftly settling into her shoulders and jaw. Her expression softens and her eyes grow fond, the smallest of smiles tipping the corners of her mouth upwards. She tips her forehead against Clarke’s and whispers: “Thank you.”

Clarke nudges Lexa’s nose up with her own until she can press a kiss to her mouth. It’s slow and soft, but no longer hesitant. Uniquely relaxed and familiar in a way that none of their past kisses have been. For some reason, this fact makes Clarke’s heart pound even harder against her ribs.  
  
“Is this alright?” Clarke asks, still close enough that their lips brush as she speaks. 

By way of answer Lexa’s hands find Clarke’s hips, and she tugs Clarke back for another kiss. She’s smiling before they pull away. “It is more than alright.”

“Good,” Clarke grins back. “I don’t really know how to do this whole morning after thing, but I do know that I’d like to keep doing that.”

“We can figure out together, then,” Lexa answers, and uses the opportunity of their closeness to sweep some of Clarke’s hair behind her ear. “Perhaps the first step is to finish getting ready.”

“Seems like a good suggestion. I could just stay here while you…do whatever it is you need to do?” Clarke glances over Lexa’s shoulder as she remembers that Elena is, quite literally, right around the corner. “I’ll just read for a bit. Stay out of your and Elena’s way.”

“Of course,” Lexa nods. “Will you be training with Ronnie today?”

“That was the plan. Is that still alright? I doubt he’ll think much of us arriving together.”

“It would not be the first time we were there before him.” Lexa offers her one last smile before turning and sweeping the curtain aside.

To her credit, Elena barely looks surprised to see Clarke step through from the bedroom behind Lexa. It’s there for only a moment, and then gone so fast that Clarke almost doesn’t catch it; she replaces it with a smile and a slight incline of her head. “ _Wanheda_.”

Lexa resumes the spot on the couch she’d clearly previously occupied, a smattering of papers scattered on the low table in front of it and Elena waiting expectantly behind it. She settles into her work as Clarke flops into a chair across from them, takes a look around, and picks up the book within reach that has the most promising title: _The Lord of the Rings_. She props the thick leather-bound tome against her thighs, cracks it open, and dives in. 

Clarke is vaguely aware of a low exchange between Lexa and Elena in Trigedasleng as she reads, but after a few minutes even their voices fade into the background. This book is sp immediately different from anything she’s ever read that Clarke is quickly consumed by it to the detriment of all else. To the point where Lexa has to say her name several times before Clarke, bleary and confused, finally looks up from her book.

“Sorry, what?”

Lexa’s lips pull into a small smile, a look of adoration in her eyes. “I asked if you need anything before we go out.”

“Oh, right,” Clarke swings her legs back into a seated position and ponders that. “Nothing really, I have my jacket from…” her eyes catch Elena’s, “last night. Otherwise, I don’t think - oh.” Realization finally dawns as she looks down at the book in her lap and she catches sight of her shirtsleeves. “I may need a new shirt. Plenty of people saw me wearing this yesterday.”

Elena shoots a glance down at the back of Lexa’s head, but the Commander doesn’t miss a beat. “You can use one of mine,” she says, and stands.

“I - really?” Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up and she looks conspicuously from Lexa, down to her chest, and back up again, not even bothering to hide her train of thought. “Are you sure?”

Lexa’s eyes have followed Clarke’s and her face goes a little pink as they remain solidly fixed on her cleavage. Clarke has to put her book down with a heavier than necessary _thud_ to get Lexa’s eyes to snap back up again. “I have older shirts that have loosened with use,” she says, and walks back into the bedroom. “And every one of them is either black or grey.”

“What a surprise,” Clarke mumbles, knowing only Elena could possibly hear her. The other woman does allow the corner of her mouth to turn up in a nearly imperceptible smirk before Lexa returns and she quickly schools her expression back into place.

It takes a moment of digging, but Lexa eventually unearths a long sleeved shirt that was probably once black, but has long since faded to grey. Clarke switches quickly from her henley to the borrowed shirt, and finds that it is indeed made soft and roomy by age. She tosses her coat on top and they’re set.

They head down to the training pitch in relative silence, a few comfortable comments being exchanged. Lexa seems...not distracted, but focused elsewhere - contemplating the workout to come, perhaps, as they take the lift downwards. No fresh snow has fallen since the previous morning, meaning the paths that had been cut through the few inches are still there, and the pitch itself is still clear. Nevertheless, frost crunches beneath their boots as they go.  
  
Once there, Lexa unties her sword and leans it against the fence, then unbuckles her belt and the close of her coat. Those she leans against the fence as well, and in a thick long sleeved shirt and gloves, she turns to Clarke.  
  
"Ronnie has been teaching you to stretch, hasn't he?" she asks, already pulling one arm across her chest.

“Um...” Clarke raises an eyebrow as Lexa bends a knee and pulls her foot back behind her. “No, he hasn’t. Is this an essential skill I’m missing?”

"I don't know that it's an essential skill," she answers, amused, "but it is a wise thing to do before or after training. Here - do as I do."

Clarke attempts to mimic Lexa's actions, but it's harder than it looks. The motion she's making where her knee is bent and she's grabbing her foot also involved balancing on one foot, which proves surprisingly difficult. She prefers the next one, which involves bending one arm behind her head and pulling on her elbow. It looks ridiculous, but actually does seem to relieve some tension in her shoulders she didn't realize was there.  
  
"This is something you'd think I'd know," Clarke muses as Lexa drops into a new position. She keeps her feet together, legs straight, and bends at the waist to touch her toes. "What with the whole training to become a doctor thing."

"It is a little surprising," Lexa admits, "but in my experiences it can also be quite overlooked." Standing back up from her stretch after several seconds, she frowns a little at Clarke. "What did you do to stay strong on the Ark?"

"Strength wasn't exactly a necessity." Clarke shrugs. "Not like it is here, anyway. We had a room with pads and makeshift weight and some people liked to box or wrestle. It was either that, or running. Lots of running. We had a short track that you could physically run around, but most of us used machines to run on." Lexa looks utterly perplexed by this, so Clarke attempts to explain. "Basically you run on a short, flat surface that's covered with a moving belt. You can make the belt move faster or slower, and the faster it moves the faster you have to run to stay on top of the machine. Does that make sense at all?"

"The... machine does, yes," Lexa says, leaving the fact that the concept of running in place itself escapes her. "You did not have much room, I imagine?"

Clarke nods. "An understatement. But really I think the reason we didn't have as much emphasis on exercise or sports - beyond the necessity - was because we didn't need them. We needed engineers and doctors and scientists, for the same reason that you need warriors. We were trying to prepare ourselves and learn the survival skills we thought we'd need when we came back to Earth." Clarke grabs a practice sword and swings it a few times. Stretching really did help extend and relax her muscles. "Turns out we should've been learning to use these the whole time, huh?"

"Perhaps." Lexa watches her, an unmasked fondness in her eyes. "But you have weapons of your own - weapons that my people have struggled to counter for a generation now. Teaching yourself how to survive in a hostile world, however..."  
  
She leaves her discarded clothing behind, and crosses to the equipment pile as well. Kneeling in the snow, she has one weighted bag slung over each of her shoulders, just as she did when Clarke was spying on her a handful of days ago. "I have heard you did not even have trees on the Ark."

Clarke snorts at the word hostile. Another understatement. “No trees,” she confirms instead of voicing her thoughts aloud. “No plants, really. We were able to grow some things, but not much, and what we could grow had to be rationed and used sparingly. That is one thing I do love about being down here. Forests, and trees. Life everywhere.” She grins as Lexa settles the bags on her shoulders. Instead of mimicking her actions, Clarke hops up onto the fence and rests the wooden sword over her shoulder. “And that there are more options for exercise than just running.”

"Yes, well." Lexa bounces upwards, popping the bags up so they settle differently on her shoulders. "Sometimes, the most basic ways are the best ways. I'll be back."

"I'll be here."  
  
Clarke watches her run off and disappear around the side of the tower a minute later. She could start on exercises of her own, but Ronnie will be here soon enough. Instead she props the wooden sword on the fence next to her and digs a blank piece of paper and charcoal from her pocket. From where she sits, she can see the almost two thirds of the tower. Framed against a lightening sky, higher than anything for hundreds of miles around. Aside from mountains, anyway. She sketches it absently, noting significant structures like the elevator, the peak of the tower, and the lower wall surrounding it. Her home now, at least for a few months. The thought isn't unpleasant, but when she thinks of her room - of her favorite chair and the books she's become used to falling asleep with, of a bed as of yet un-slept in - it doesn't feel like home. It doesn't feel like hers.  
  
Her hand slips a little and the charcoal smudges her outline. Clarke frowns in frustration and gently wipes it out as best she can, leaving her with a slightly greyed smudge on an otherwise white paper.

Every so often, a glance up is met by the dark figure of the Commander coming around the tower's side again. All black and grey against the snow, Lexa follows the path cut through it to ease the difficulty of keeping her feet. Her face is red with exertion, and her breath clouds in white puffs in front of her as she goes, the sound of it drawing to mind...other sounds Lexa had made the night before, sending blood rushing to Clarke's face as well. It is, of course, the only time in her three passes around the foot of the tower that Lexa looks up at her, flashing a smile that seems far too easy for the work she's doing, and that only makes it worse.  
  
When her final circuit is complete, Lexa does not attempt the vault over the fence that sent her sprawling in the dirt last time Clarke was watching. Instead she slows to a jog as she approaches the fence, and comes to a stop a few feet from where Clarke is standing. She watches her as Lexa swings the bags off her shoulder and slings them over the top of the fence. "Are you drawing?"

“Sketching,” Clarke confirms and hands the paper to Lexa as she approaches. “Got a little distracted somewhere along the way though.” She indicates the smudge in the center of the drawing and shrugs. “When there are too many attractive things to look at, I sometimes find it hard to focus.”

Lexa looks back up, and it's clear that it takes her a moment to realize that Clarke is talking about her. When she does, it looks like her face goes just a little bit redder. "You included the lift," she says, turning the paper around to indicate it to Clarke - as though she hadn't just drawn it herself a moment ago. "It's quite impressive."

“Thank you,” Clarke smirks. “Just trying to be accurate.” She folds the paper up and pockets it. A strong urge to take a step forward - and she would barely even need one step, Lexa is right there - and close the space between them overtakes Clarke for a moment. But she stops herself, not sure how Lexa would feel about it out here in the open. And a second later, when Ronnie comes trotting around the corner of the tower, she has her answer: they both instantly take a step back, Clarke to turn and face him and Lexa to... well, presumably not be so close to Clarke.  
  
“You’re late!” Clarke calls at him.

"Late??" Ronnie calls back in a cry. His arms go up at the same time, and then he points at the sun above his head. "I'm right on time!"

“I don’t know...” Clarke pulls a dramatic frown and looks up at the sun. “I got here before you, so it seems likely that you’re late.”

"What!"  
  
"She is right, you know," Lexa adds helpfully, looking sidelong at Clarke. There's amusement in her eyes as she continues, "A teacher should never arrive later than their student."  
  
"I'm not late!" The boy protests, just a handful of feet from them now. "We set a specific time to meet, and it is now, currently, that time, which means--"

“I suppose I’ll forgive you.” Clarke can’t keep the smile from her voice. “Just this once.”

Ronnie sighs his exasperation, then turns to Lexa and puts his fist over his heart, inclining his head. " _Monin,_ _Heda_."  
  
" _Monin_ , _Natblidda_ ," she answers, repeating the gesture back to him. She continues in Trigedasleng, " _Are you ready for the day?"_  
  
" _Sha, Heda_ ," he answers, and drops his salute. " _I have rested, and am ready for all it holds for me._ "  
  
" _Good_." Lexa folds her hands behind her, and looks to Clarke. "I will leave you both to it, then."

Clarke nods her acknowledgement. “Enjoy your training, Lexa.”  
  
The Commander goes about her usual morning routine, which leaves Clarke and Ronnie to their own devices.

“I’m sorry I teased you,” she says as she tosses him a wooden sword. “I should be nicer to my teacher. Especially since you’ll be stuck with me for a while now.”

"Yeah! I heard your people left to go to Arkadia already," he says, catching the sword and giving it a spin. "But you're still here. Does that mean you'll be staying through the winter?"

The way he spins it gives Clarke pause, and then she chuckles when she realizes: it’s exactly the way she’d been spinning her sword a few minutes ago.  
  
“It does. You’ll be stuck with me for at least another few months.”

"Good. I was worried you were gonna leave before I got tired of kicking your butt."  
  
With a practice sword already in hand, Ronnie seems unwilling to make room for staves. Instead, he has Clarke pick up the pair of false daggers he provided for them a few days ago, and they spend the morning practicing with them. As such, Clarke is much less bruised by the time she turns around and finds Helena watching them.  
  
"Looks like I taught you to move your feet better," she calls, grinning at her.

“You gave me a lot to imitate,” Clarke calls over her shoulder, “and I’ve been told I’m a fast learner.” She catches his sword with the dagger in her right hand and turns it, managing to tap him on the shoulder with her left before he dances away.  
  
“Nice!” Ronnie whoops, as if he’d been the one to hit her. “Okay now do it again.”

She doesn't do that again. Not initially, anyway; put on the spot to recreate her success, Clarke isn't able to meet Ronnie's changing pattern of movement in a way that allows her to land the same strike. But as the morning wears on and the end of their training draws closer, Ronnie becomes a little less focused. She can't quite put her finger on it, but Clarke can tell that he isn't entirely engaged in what they're doing and - perhaps worse - has started holding back. As such, she's able to clip him with a wooden dagger twice more before they close for the day, a new best for sparring like this.

"That's the first time I've gotten that many hits on you, ever," Clarke muses aloud as they stow the equipment back where it belongs, "and I've been getting lessons from a trained warrior for maybe two weeks." She eyes Ronnie, who's methodically fingering through the training swords in search of his favorite. "You okay, Ronnie?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah - sorry, I'm just," he tips his head to the far side of the field, where Lexa is busy putting her coat back on. "Thinking about training. You did good, though! You moved really quick today, that's why you hit me so many times."

Clarke follows his line of sight and watches Lexa. "I have a good teacher. But what's got you so nervous about training today?"

"It's, um." He finds the sword he's looking for, and wiggles it until he can pull it out of the barrel. He gives it a spin, and looks for a moment as though he might switch it out. "Every so often, we go one on one with _Heda_ , in front of everyone." He frowns. "I've never won."

Clarke has to physically hold back a scoff and words that she's sure would come out as _Well, duh._ She swallows and clears her throat, smoothing her voice of any amusement. "That sounds intimidating, but has anyone ever won? I can't imagine there's any shame in losing to the Commander."

"There isn't. Not really," he answers with a shrug. "But...we need to be at least as good as her. If not better. And the sooner we are, the better - it's what makes us worthy of carrying the Flame, and what keeps our people strong. If _Heda_ dies before one of us is strong enough..."

"Lexa is not going to die."  
  
Both Clarke and Ronnie look equally surprised by the vehemence of that statement. "I mean. She will, someday," Clarke attempts to clarify, "but not anytime soon. Not if I have anything to say about it. That being said," she adds with a wink, "I do hope you win. She could stand to get her ass kicked now and again."

A tentative grin answers that. "I wouldn't say that too loudly," Ronnie says. Boots in the frost announce Lexa's approach, and he glances over Clarke's shoulder at her. Around the corner, the sound of Nightbloods approaching echoes across the snow. "But it would be nice to be that good."  
  
" _Natblidda_ ," Lexa says in Trigedasleng. She's adjusting the fit of one of her gloves when she comes into view, stopping beside Clarke. " _Yu gud?"_  
  
" _Sha, Heda_ ," Ronnie says, inclining his head.  
  
"Good. Go join the others."

Clarke gives him a reassuring nod and he smiles a little wider before running over to meet the other Nightbloods.  
  
“You’re sparring the Nightbloods today?” Clarke turns to Lexa.

Lexa looks at her from the corner of her eye. "It's a test," she says, sorting through the collection of practice swords.

“Sure.” Clarke hops up on the fence next to them and shrugs. She glances to their right and sees Helena making her way over. “A child fighting the world’s greatest - or at least, most well known - warrior seems like a totally reasonable test.

"Most of them have fought much worse than I," she answers, neither particularly amused nor wholly terse. "And those that haven't are sure to, soon enough. They need to be ready."

“I’m sure that’s true,” Clarke makes a show of a dramatic sigh. “I was trying to tease you, but you really do know how to take the fun out of it.”

She detects just the slightest of smirks on Lexa's lips as she draws her chosen 'blade' from the pile. "You know I can't make it easy for you," she says, her voice low, "you might get bored otherwise."  
  
She flips the practice sword in her hand to test its weight and, apparently satisfied, walks off with little more than that.

“It would be nice if it were easy even some of the time,” Clarke mutters, largely to herself.  
  
Helena reaches her in the next instant, a far more pronounced smirk painted across her face. “Did you enjoy the show?” Clarke asks as the other woman hops gracefully onto the fence next to her.

"I enjoyed _that_ show, whatever it was," she says, nodding at Lexa's retreating form. "You even got her to smile. What _ever_ did you say to her?"

“That she should consider having a sense of humor now and again.” Clarke shrugs. “That was the essence of it, anyway.”

"Mm." Helena's heels bounce off the fence's wooden slats. "I'm impressed that made her smile. She usually just scowls at me when I suggest that."

“Maybe she likes me better than you.”  
  
The Nightbloods have all gathered in front of them now to choose practice swords. Ronnie has always been partial to a certain sword, but today each of them seems to inspect them more carefully. As if a divot or notch here and there will be the difference between victory and defeat.

In the end, some of them settle on quarterstaffs, others on swords, yet others supplement with one of the daggers, as Helena had. It would appear that today, anything goes in the name of victory.  
  
"Mmmmmm, not possible," Helena hums, and winks approvingly at the young Nightblood - who couldn't have been older than eight - who chose the sword and dagger combo. "There's no one she likes better than me."

Clarke laughs, startling the Nightblood in question - but a smile from her is instantly reciprocated. “It’s too bad she’s stuck with me for three months and not you, in that case.”

"It's true. I can only imagine the endless frustration you'll cause her - what little sanity will remain intact, by the time I come back."  
  
Lexa looks over her shoulder at the commotion, momentarily suspicious of the sound. When she meets Clarke's eyes, she raises an eyebrow.  
  
"In reality though," Helena sighs, watching the Nightbloods move back into formation with their chosen weapons. Kita has affixed a false blade to the end of her quarterstaff, arming herself with a spear. "I'll bet she's glad you're staying."

“I’m sure the frustration will be mutual.” Clarke meets Lexa’s gaze and raises her eyebrows in kind. The Commander shakes her head and returns to the task at hand. “Why do you think she’s glad?”

Helena snorts. "Because she won't be alone," she says, in a tone that suggests the obviousness of this. Across the pitch, the Nightblood's trainer has arrived, and they form up in front of the Commander.  
  
"Though, she does seem to like you," Helena sighs, leaning forward just a little to rest her weight on her hands, which in turn are propped on the top of the fence. "Not as much as me, obviously, but more than a lot of others. Not that I can fathom why."

“And here I thought we were getting along so well. I was so hoping you’d come to appreciate my charm.” Clarke can’t hear exactly what Lexa says to the Nightbloods, but it seems to be something most have heard before as they nod along. The youngest seem more nervous than the others, but the older ones have a hand on their shoulders or a reassuring smile for them. It makes it a little easier to think of them as just kids training to become warriors, and not warriors trained by Lexa for the purpose of replacing her someday.  
  
“I’m glad she won’t be alone too,” Clarke hums, half in response to her own thoughts.

"I'm sure you are." The _Floukru_ chieftain looks at her from the corner of her eye. "You seem to like her too, more than most. Which is even less fathomable still."

“How’s that?” Clarke hops down from her perch to lean against the fence next to Helena. Easier to talk, and more comfortable if she’s going to be standing around here for a while. “You don’t think highly of our fearless Commander?”

" _Our_ _?"_ Helena repeats slyly. "Interesting choice of word."  
  
This test of the Nightbloods begins with the youngest of them. Her sword in hand, Lexa doesn't pull her punches, per se; she scores a point wherever there's an opening, but she keeps up a near constant stream of coaching as she does. While there are a number of gaps in the smaller Nightbloods' defenses, they're still surprisingly capable.  
  
"But no, of course I do," Helena goes on. "But I also know what a pain she can be, and though I love her, I am fairly baffled by the idea that anyone else could."

“She is a pain, that much I’ll grant you.” Clarke chooses her words carefully, and flips her attention from a particularly small Nightblood falling on his butt fully back to Helena. “But I think for some - not many, but some - good reasons. Losing someone you love can make you a difficult person to get close to. I’m told.”

Helena snorts. "You're _told_. I'm sure." She sighs, and pushes some snow off the top of the fence with the tip of her finger. "There are good reasons, of course. It's one thing I love about her; she never does anything without good reason."

“Or a reason she thinks is good,” Clarke scoffs, “more to the point.” Her mouth turns in a small smile. “You’re right, she is going to drive me insane.”

Helena shakes her head. "You're going to drive each other insane," she says, and turns a grin on her. "Just promise me you'll keep her safe?"

“I will,” Clarke promises, and though she’s still smiling, she means it as much as always. The number of times she’s found herself in a situation where she has to insist that she, just Clarke, will keep the Commander of the Twelve Clans safe is getting a little ridiculous. But even so, as much as she’d like to make light of that fact, she can never quite bring herself to. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe, that much I can promise. But I can’t imagine there will be too much to protect her from in Polis. Aside from boring politics.”

"Even those are a threat," Helena sighs, and for a beat she's serious. But then she follows it up with, "She could die of boredom."  
  
The _Floukru_ chieftain keeps up a running commentary from her perch next to Clarke, directing attention here and there to the mistakes and nice moves made by the Nightbloods in turn. The young ones are particularly ferocious for being so small, and even as Lexa deals with them handily, Clarke envisions getting her butt handed to her by an eight year old. One boy in particular, who had opted to fight with a sword in each hand, reminded Clarke of Octavia with the way he threw himself at the Commander with reckless abandon. Unlike Octavia, however, Lexa is not afraid to hit him where his attacks leave him open, and reprimand him for it.  
  
"If you are going to fight like a berserker," she tells him disapprovingly, "You have to at least be fast."  
  
There's a girl who comes at her with an axe, which Clarke has never seen before, and then another fights with sword and dagger. And then it's Ronnie's turn, with just his sword.

He doesn’t look nervous, just focused: he stands and moves with confidence and his expression is calculating, with just the littlest hint of excitement. An interpretation of “focused” that only Ronnie manages.  
  
“Ronnie was distracted this morning, he let me get more hits in than usual,” Clarke muses. Helena had been leaning casually against the fence but now her back is straight, her attention more firmly on the fight in front of her. “He seemed very determined to win. More determined than I’ve ever seen him.”

"From what I understand, he takes the whole "being worthy of _Heda'_ thing very seriously," she says, watching the two black-clad figures square off. "I mean, they all do - it's what they were born to do. But where others are concerned about the Flame, he's more concerned about _her_."

Clarke frowns as she considers the potential meaning of that. “He and I have that in common. But what do you mean?”

"You'll have to ask her," Helena says with a shrug. The sound of wood on wood rings out as Lexa takes a few test shots at Ronnie's defenses. "The Nightbloods are trained to be the Commander's successor, not Lexa's specifically. I think maybe he misses the distinction."

“Maybe he admires the kind of leader she is,” Clarke says, and gives a low whistle as Ronnie very narrowly avoids a swipe to the head. “Maybe he hopes to be the same, someday. Certainly he would be easier to deal with than Lexa.”

"Easier for some, maybe," Helena grins.  
  
With the formalities out of the way, the fight between Commander and Nightblood begins in earnest. Ronnie is careful in his attacks; many of the advances he makes against Lexa are meant to draw out her defenses rather than score points, challenging her to recover after being overdrawn or risk leaving herself open. It's a good strategy, and it's clear from Lexa's coaching that she's impressed.  
  
Nevertheless, he does not succeed in getting through her defenses. He's able to keep her at bay for some time - longer than the other Nightbloods were able to, that's for certain - and those watching often need to move out of the way as they battle back and forth. But a surprise burst of strength from Lexa batters down one of his parries, and she knocks the sword from his hand.

“Impressive,” Clarke muses aloud to Helena as Ronnie makes a show of an exasperated sigh. “I told him there’s no shame in losing to Lexa. I’m sure he’ll be grouchy about it, but I think he put up a good fight.”

"Not as good a one as he would have hoped, I'm sure," Helena says. Lexa shakes out her hand and fixes her glove again as Kita now steps forward. "But you're not wrong. He's scary good - probably at least as good as Lexa was at his age."

“He’s also not as good as Kita,” Clarke watches the girl in question test her spear’s weight with a few practice swings, “but don’t tell him I said so. Seems odd that they would be tested from youngest to oldest - effectively saving the best for last. Lexa has to be tired after all this.”

"Yeah, but it means letting the younger _Natbliddas_ think about the mistakes they made, and see how the older ones deal with the same issues," Helena shrugs. "And Lexa's whole thing is that she's strong; she can handle it. Or at least, is supposed to."  
  
The Commander certainly doesn't look worn out, standing with her back straight as Kita swings her spear about. She rakes it out in a wide arc to one side, making other Nightbloods draw back as its point skims the frozen ground near their feet, then she pulls it back in and spins it between her hands. First to one side, then to the other in a flourish that looks to be more dance than violence, she brings it to a stop with the blunt end behind her back. The rest of the shaft she locks beneath one arm, the point directed out and towards the ground, as she steps back into a fighting stance. Her free hand, unarmed, is bent and ready in front of her as her eyes settle on Lexa's.  
  
As before, Lexa makes a few test strikes at her opponent. The eldest Nightblood refuses to meet her blade, however; instead of moving her spear from where it's set at her side, she spins one way, and then the other to avoid the blade entirely. For someone whose main weapon is her strength - so says Ronnie, whose lips are twisted with the intensity of his focus on the fight - she is extremely light on her feet.  
  
It seems that she has been testing Lexa as much as the Commander has been testing her, as after the fourth strike she spins out with her spear, and swipes in a wide arc at Lexa's side. She fails to catch that this particular attempt at hitting her is a feint, however, as the spot that would have been left open by Lexa's attack - the same that had been left open after Lexa's previous attacks - is suddenly covered by her sword. The wood of the haft _cracks_ against the blade of the training sword, and Kita beats a hasty retreat. Lexa smirks.  
  
"Good," she says.

"Okay so the spear is pretty cool," Clarke says and Helena chuckles. "I think my defense against that would be 'run away.'"

Helena laughs at that, and the outburst this time draws not even a glance from the Nightbloods. "I think that might end up being Lexa's defense, too."  
  
Sure enough, when Kita goes on the attack this time it's with wide, sweeping swings of the spear, using its extended reach to her advantage. Lexa is forced to give ground in the face of this tactic, deflecting the spear on occasion with the side of her blade, but largely prevented from probing much deeper beyond its established radius. The strategy behind choosing the spear quickly becomes evident, and its significance is not lost on Lexa.  
  
"Keeping a stronger opponent at a distance," she says, even as she fails once more to get so much as a step closer to Kita. "A wise decision. But be careful--"  
  
Kita makes another strong sweep, but instead of dancing away, Lexa steps into it. With a mighty swing of her own, she brings her sword down on top of the spearhead, and Kita's weight, already overextended, isn't enough to stop the point from being driven into the ground. Her eyes go wide, already knowing her mistake before Lexa steps forward and kicks her in the gut.  
  
"Not to wear yourself out too quickly," the Commander finishes.  
  
The blow has knocked Kita backwards, but she's able to wrench the spear backwards and shove the back of the haft into the ground. With that as a fulcrum, she catches her weight and spins, eating the momentum of the kick and regaining her balance. Clarke can hear her wheeze, even from this distance, as she fights to regain the breath the blow knocked from her - but without that, she wouldn't have known anything was wrong. Kita's face remains impassively determined, the spear now held close to her chest and between her hands in a defensive position.

The fight moves back and forth for several minutes more, both combatants much closer to each other now that Kita keeps more of her weight behind her spear. Nevertheless, she keeps Lexa on her toes with its extended reach; Kita has to be careful not to put her spear in range of Lexa's sword, as even a real haft would fail to stand up to a sharpened steel sword for too long, but Lexa's sword presents little defense against the jabs that the longer weapon is capable of. Where swords and knives could be turned aside, it's the Commander who has to turn aside to avoid the spear tip when it comes seeking after her. As a result, this fight between student and teacher is much more physical than the previous ones, with both fighters resorting to the use of fists and feet while their weapons are stuck engaging the other's.  
  
A particularly vicious sequence - in which a number of close-quarter exchanges push Lexa to step past Kita, allowing the Nightblood to spin around and make a low sweep with her spear, making Lexa jump over it like a jump rope - culminates in a jab that makes Lexa's hand snap up and close around the haft. With a grunt she stops the spear from probing any closer...but not before it is immensely clear that the tip of the spear hovers just to the left of her heart. Had this been a real fight, and had Kita intended to kill her, a blow like that would have done a great deal of harm. And just like that, the fight is over.  
  
Kita has beaten the Commander.

Clarke had been watching the two warriors with growing interest, analyzing the way they seemed to constantly evaluate and reevaluate each other. Lexa had the advantage most of the time but Kita clearly knows her Commander well - that was clear before, but abundantly so now that she's obviously passed this test.  
  
The Nightbloods are tense, no one daring to move or say a word, and for several seconds both Kita and Lexa stand there, chests heaving and fighting for breath. Clarke raises her hands and starts to clap; slowly and relatively softly, but it rings clear over the silence of the training pitch.

The Nightbloods turn as one towards the sound, expressions ranging from bafflement to annoyance. But Helena joins a moment later, and when Ronnie meets Clarke's eyes, he grins a little and starts to clap as well. Before long, most - but not all - of the Nightbloods have joined in, creating a small scattering of applause that makes Kita look bashful and Lexa beam.  
  
Those three Nightbloods who do not offer their congratulations just scowl, and it isn't clear if they're scowling at Clarke or at Kita.  
  
"Guess your friend isn't wrong," Helena says, looking at Clarke. "No one fights like the Nightbloods."

"No," Clarke smiles at the look on Lexa's face - all pride and excitement. She's seen more smiles from the Commander in the last twenty-four hours than the entire time Clarke has known her. It's tempting to get used to it. "No, they don't. Good thing I have one for a teacher."

With the formal test concluded, the Nightblood's regular trainer - whose partially shaved head and tattoos Clarke now recognizes as the marks of a Flamekeeper, reminiscent of Titus' - has them set up training dummies, and puts them to thinking about and working on the feedback provided to them by Lexa during their individual fights. The Commander herself tucks her practice sword under her arm and undoes the button at the wrist of her gloves, all while heading back to the barrel of practice blades. As she approaches she raises her eyes to Clarke and Helena in turn, as both still stand near that end of the equipment pile.  
  
"Nicely done, Commander," Helena hums. "You really showed those kids who's boss."  
  
"One of those kids put you through your paces yesterday," Lexa says, stuffing her removed gloves in a pocket of her coat. Who even knew the thing had pockets. "My training choices are clearly effective."

"Clearly," Clarke agrees. She watches as Kita trades her spear for a sword and attacks the dummy, her movements nearly identical to those Lexa had used while fighting Ronnie. "Good thing they won't be facing you in battle anytime soon."

"Speeeeeaking of." Helena presses her palms together, and angles her aligned fingers in Lexa's direction. "We should probably discuss that mess with _Yuujleda_ today."  
  
"Mm." Lexa waits for the Nightbloods to put their equipment away, then takes her turn to stuff the practice sword back in its barrel. "We have kept them waiting long enough. If we ignore it for much longer, they might decide to take it into their own hands."  
  
"We could include Clarke," the chieftain suggests, tipping her head towards Clarke even as she speaks as though she isn't there.

Clarke rolls her eyes. "By all means, include me." She raises an eyebrow at Helena, waiting until the other woman meets her eyes. "I am standing right here, after all. You may as well."

"It has nothing to do with _Skaikru_ ," Lexa says, as though Clarke hasn't spoken.  
  
"No," Helena admits with a shrug, "but the whole point of her being here is that she gets integrated in Polis politics. This would be a good place to start, don't you think?"  
  
"A fair point." Lexa's eyes turn to Clarke, surveying her a moment before amending, "If it is something she would be interested in doing."  
  
"Fantastic!" Helena claps her hands together, and looks at Clarke. "Now I don't know about you," she says, "but I'm hungry. And you," she pointedly looks Lexa up and down, "are sweaty." Lexa raises an eyebrow, but doesn't interrupt as Helena goes on, "Perhaps we should reconvene in the throne room in an hour's time?"

"I don't know why I bother speaking when the two of you are together," Clarke says, and earns barely a glance from either woman. She sighs, exasperated, and takes a few steps back toward the tower. "I wouldn't mind cleaning up myself, though," she says, looking pointedly at Lexa. That does manage to get the Commander's attention, and Clarke smirks before turning fully and waving absently behind her. "I'll see you both in an hour."

"Perfect!" Helena calls, even as she can feel Lexa's eyes lingering on her. "See you then!"


	2. Not After, Just In Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: alcohol, explicit sexual content (oral sex, fingering)

Despite a lingering annoyance at being ignored, Clarke is increasingly pleased at the idea of getting back to her room to wash up. She may have managed to put on a new shirt, but that doesn't change that this morning was only one in a series of "workouts" over the past twelve hours. Sweat has formed and dried on her skin several times over, and the luxury of getting clean whenever she likes has grown on her immensely. In fact, it may be her favorite thing about living in Polis.  
  
It doesn't take long to get back to her room. Though she'd love to take her time and enjoy a bath, she opts instead to wash herself with a towel and warm water. There will be time for a longer rest later. By the time she feels thoroughly clean and has chosen a new outfit - dark pants, a purple, of all colors, shirt that's light and loose fitting but still warm, and her new favorite boots - she estimates that it has to be close to the hour mark Helena had set. Potentially closer to forty minutes, but it's not as if she's ever arrived somewhere earlier than Lexa. She grabs a new, clean piece of parchment and her charcoal and presses them into the pockets of her pants before making her way back to Lexa's throne room.

As before, a table is set up in front of the throne, and - as expected - Lexa is already there. She stands at the head of the table, snacking on something she plucks from a bowl while she reads from a paper she holds in her other hand. As Clarke approaches, she looks up.

“You do clean up quick,” Clarke remarks, despite having predicted Lexa would beat her here. She half sits, half leans on the table about a foot from where Lexa stands, giving the other woman her space. “What’s that?” she asks, and gestures toward the bowl.

"I've learned to be quick about it," Lexa answers. When asked, she pushes the bowl towards Clarke. "Mixed nuts. The protein helps with workout recovery. Are you hungry?"

Clarke hadn’t given food much thought, but at the mention of it her stomach growls. Her last meal was...when? Yesterday at lunch?  
  
“Not immensely, but given that it’s been over a day since I’ve eaten anything, I should probably remedy that.” She picks out a small handful of nuts and eats them slowly, aware that twenty hours without eating will make her stomach less tolerant to food, not more.

"I can have something more substantial sent up," Lexa says, and signals a guard who stands outside the door. "I am certain that Helena will be bringing her own veritable feast."

“I better start out slowly, but thank you.” The paper in Lexa’s hands is written in Trigedasleng, but Clarke can identify a few words. Something about warriors from different clans, and some kind of...fight? Conflict?  
  
“Something I can help with?” Clarke asks, and nods at the piece of paper.

Lexa looks back down at it, then lays it out on the table so Clarke can see. "We were not the only ones starting fights this week, it seems," she says, sighing. "Members of the Broadleaf guard had it out with some of Helena's guard the night of the festival. The tavern they were patronizing suffered a considerable amount of damage as a result - and a few of the other patrons, too."

“Hmmm...” Clarke takes a moment to finish chewing. “I don’t imagine you have some protocol in place for this sort of thing?”

"Normally, yes. But that protocol exists for individuals who are still in the city." Lexa makes a face. "It would seem that friends in the city guard prevented news of the altercation from spreading until after the Broadleaf delegation had departed."  
  
Her eyes settle on Clarke as she finishes speaking, and in that moment there's a crack in her veneer. The door to the throne room is open, but the only guard who was paying attention to the activity inside has been sent off. It has been only a few hours since they left her room, but the look in Lexa's eyes and the knowledge that they are alone is enough to make Clarke's stomach jump.  
  
Lexa moves around the corner of the table to enter Clarke's space. She hesitates then, as though unable to resist Clarke's orbit but uncertain what to do once actually in it.

"I...apologize if I was standoffish earlier," she says, one hand resting on the table beside Clarke's. That awkwardness that can somehow be both so endearing and so infuriating threatens to overtake her, but she pushes through it. "I do not intend to be, I assure you. But I'm afraid--" her voice catches on the word, making it stand out, "I never considered what might happen...after. What to do. I do not want that to make you think I am not," her face goes a little pink, "interested."

Clarke hadn't realized until this moment that her jaw had been tight, her fingers gripping the table harder than usual - and she only notices now because the tension leaves her muscles instantly.  
  
"You don't have to apologize." Clarke moves her hand over Lexa's and squeezes gently. "I don't know what I'm doing either. Maybe we should talk about how to..." she waves her other hand in the air in an attempt to scoop the right words out of nothing. "How to navigate this. At some point. But for now, it's enough to know that you're still _interested_." She smirks at the word, and is rewarded by Lexa's skin turning an even darker shade of pink. "I am too, for the record.  
  
"Besides, this isn't after," Clarke adds with a wink, "it's just in between."

At that, Lexa goes even _redder_.  
  
"So I was told," comes a voice from the door, and Lexa jumps. Clarke yanks her hand back just as Lexa does, and they both turn to the table at once. Helena enters the room, bearing a tray of food. "Ordered, really, that I needed to bring extra food up here for you two. Can you clear a space?"

"For the record, I did not ask for more food," Clarke says as she scoots the various papers and writing utensils to one corner of the table. Lexa has grabbed the bowl of nuts and moved to the side, only somewhat helpfully. "Lexa insisted on sending for more before I could stop her."

"Mmhm." Helena does not sound the least bit believing of that, but she puts the tray down in the cleared spot and makes a show of brushing off her hands. Her eyes move between Clarke and Lexa, both standing on the opposite side of the table, and linger on Lexa's face. "So what did I miss?"  
  
"I was just explaining the situation to Clarke," Lexa says, pushing the piece of paper over to her. This is not, Clarke notes, technically a lie.

"She was." Clarke glances at Lexa, who is pointedly not looking at her, before taking a seat. The smell of food makes Clarke's stomach practically growl, and it takes a significant amount of self restraint for her to not snatch up the roll of bread closest to her hand. Instead, she puts her elbows on the table and folds her hands beneath her chin. "How would you solve this problem if the Broadleaf delegation were still here?"

"My guard would take the culprits into custody," Lexa answers, and does pick up a roll from the tray. She tosses it up and catches it as she looks at a map of the area still spread across one corner of the table, as though that might have the answers. "And they would be tried by a tribunal, who would determine responsibility through witness testimony, and testimony from the accused."  
  
"While in Polis, the chiefs cede their right to judge their people to the Commander," Helena explains, tipping her head in Lexa's direction. She grabs some food for herself and sits at an angle in a chair, her feet propped up on the one beside her. "She gets complete jurisdiction over all who are here as part of the Coalition's treaty."  
  
"But," Lexa says with a sigh, and finally looks up at Clarke. She has regained control of her expression, and the blush is all but gone from her face. "The Broadleaf guards are no longer in Polis."

"And that doesn't change that injured patrons and the tavern require retribution." Clarke nods, her mind already piecing together solutions. "It sounds like the tribunal would find them guilty either way, as there are physically injured witnesses and a tavern owner with a tavern to repair. Would physical labor suffice as a punishment?"

"The tribunal wouldn't establish guilt so much as responsibility, in this case," Lexa says. "There is little doubt that the parties involved all took action that caused this damage, as you said. But who started it, and therefore bears the majority of the responsibility for it, is less clear."  
  
"And with _Yujleda_ no longer in the city," Helena pipes in, "it's easy enough for my people to argue that they are not at fault; they have no one, except perhaps bystanders, to say otherwise. But even then, there's little the tribunal could do to enforce whatever they discover. Now that the Broadleaf warriors in question have left, they're under Wyatt's jurisdiction until they come back to Polis. _If_ they come back to Polis."  
  
"We could ask that he hold his people responsible separately..." Lexa sounds like she's thinking out loud. Helena shrugs.  
  
"Luckily, he is one of the more trustworthy sorts," she hums.

"I did like him," Clarke agrees, "but maybe there are other ways. The punishment doesn't have to be the same, even if responsibility is shared equally, given the circumstances. The _Floukru_ warriors who were involved could give up their time, for example - tell them to spend a day working for the injured patrons, to make up for the time they've lost at whatever trade they perform, and a day assisting the tavern owner with repairs. Or half a day working for the victims and half a day repairing the tavern, if there are enough of them. _Yujleda_ isn't here, but they can send money or the equivalent of money in goods to Polis to pay for the rest of the tavern repairs."  
  
Clarke's stomach refuses to be ignored any longer, so she pauses to pick up the closest roll and take a bite. "You may have to front the money ahead of time," she says, having barely just swallowed, "but if Wyatt is trustworthy like you say, you'll have it back eventually."

"Most of my warriors aren't tradesmen," Helena says, a frown on her face.  
  
"But they're certainly able bodied," Lexa looks at Clarke, already nodding, "and building does not require much direct knowledge if one is being overseen by someone with experience. And even if they cannot replace a day's wages by taking on another's day's work, there are surely other tasks that would require their strength."  
  
Helena's lip curls, but she doesn't protest. "They will not like being made into laborers," she sighs, as though already anticipating the whining she will have to endure.  
  
"Then they should not have disturbed the peace in my city," Lexa says simply, and just like that, it's decided. "I will send notice to Wyatt. He can work out whatever punishment his laws require for his warriors, but he will know what Polis' laws require of them. I don't think we will receive much pushback from him."

“I don’t mean to speak for you, Helena.” Clarke nods at the other woman, aware of the frown still tugging at the corner of her mouth. “It just seems the simplest solution. One where all that’s lost is some pride, as opposed to...” she glances at Lexa and shrugs, “whatever else. How long before you plan to leave Polis?”

"Three days yet," Helena answers with a shrug of her own. "I'll make sure they do their duty before we leave, or I'll flog them myself." She says it easily enough, but given the culture of the Grounders, Clarke isn't entirely sure she's joking.  
  
Lexa scribbles down what Clarke assumes is a note to herself in a ledger, but she can't be sure. The letters make little sense to her in that order, even for Trigedasleng words.  
  
"Now that is settled," the Commander says, and looks up once she's finished. "Shall we move on?"  
  
The rest of the afternoon is spent sorting through various small matters of local politics. Helena seems up to date on most of them, but Clarke is quickly brought up to speed in the process. Indra appears for a time, her ever present gruffness announcing her presence.  
  
"Glad I was invited to lunch with the Commander," she mutters as she walks in, sword on her hip.  
  
"This is you being invited," Helena smirks, and kicks out the chair she was resting her feet on. "Take a seat, grumpy gills."

“We didn’t see you at training this morning or we would’ve mentioned it,” Clarke says, earning an eye roll from Indra as she takes her seat.  
  
Clarke has managed to eat several sweet rolls along with an, unsurprisingly, extremely hearty sandwich by the time all is said and done. And yet somehow, she doesn’t feel full at all. She must’ve expended more energy last night than she thought.  
  
“If this is going to be my day to day for the next few months,” Clarke says as she pushes her plate away, “eating and solving political problems, I’m going to leave Polis a lot fatter than I arrived.”

"Between Ronnie and this one," Helena smirks, nodding in Lexa's direction, "I doubt that's going to be a problem." The Commander very carefully keeps her eyes directed downwards, apparently reading.

“She’s only convinced me to spar with her once,” Clarke can’t help the small smirk from pulling at her lips, a subtler match to Helena’s, “but you’re right. I’m sure there will be more opportunities.”

Lexa _very_ _carefully_ keeps her eyes downwards, and from the look in her eye, Clarke imagines that she's working hard to fight down a blush. The innuendo of her words is not lost on the Commander, it seems.  
  
They turn their attention to issues affecting _Trikru's_ territory, particularly the lands immediately surrounding the city. But hardly an hour passes before they are interrupted again, this time by the arrival of Titus.  
  
" _Heda_ ," he says, hands folded into the sleeves of his robes. His eyes alight on Clarke, hesitating for a moment, and then he continues in English, "I apologize for the interruption, but I must speak with you."  
  
"Something terribly urgent, I'm sure," Helena sighs. She's already standing, having started collecting her things when Titus first appeared - almost as though she knew already that she was about to be kicked out.  
  
Lexa makes no move to stop her, her eyes moving from one woman to another. "We will continue this later," she says, and as the others gather their things, her eyes linger on Clarke's.

Clarke nods. “Later, then,” she says, and grabs her jacket before forcing her eyes from Lexa’s. Only to meet Titus’ level stare as she turns to leave.  
  
“Titus,” Clarke acknowledges. The only indication that he hears her is a tightening in his jaw, his eyes narrowing as they linger on hers for another second before sweeping past her.  
  
Needing no further indication that her presence is wholly unwanted, Clarke shuts the door to Lexa’s throne room behind her and turns again to find someone staring at her. Helena leans against the corridor wall, apparently waiting for her.

"Are you doing anything right now?" she asks.

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “No. Do you have something in mind?”

"I'm bored," Helena says, taking her by the hand and pulling her down the hallway. "Let's hang out. Want to come, Indra?"  
  
The _Trikru_ chief is already halfway down the hall. She doesn't look over her shoulder to respond, just raises her hand and says, "Pass."  
  
"Yeeeeeah, I thought so."

“Who am I to refuse the chief of _Floukru?”_ Clarke trots up next to Helena, causing the other woman to release her hand. “What do you want to do?”

"Have you ever had _chocow?"_ Helena asks, already leading Clarke onto the lift.

Clarke can feel a frigid breeze before the lift gets to the bottom. She zips her coat up to her neck and retrieves the gloves from her pocket. "I don't think so. Though it sounds a lot like 'chocolate,' which I am always interested in."

"Good," Helena grins, "because I know the best place."  
  
They exit into the cold, clear day, and set off into the city. They chat as Helena leads the way, cutting a path through the crowds on the major thoroughfares and around corners into less populated side streets. Neither of them cover their heads, but no one pays them any mind; for a time, Clarke can sink into the strange comfort of anonymity, sheltered by the press of people too busy to care about who she is.  
  
At first she thinks that Helena means to take her to the market, but she continues past the necessary turn without pausing. Instead, they move to the far side of the city, where Clarke has spent little time except to map it, to find another, smaller market square. The wares on display here are simpler than those shown in its larger counterpart, cured meats and preserved fruits and vegetables on display alongside hammers, pots, and other day to day tools. No smith's hammer rings out here, no collection of pre-Fire relics offers intrigue. But Helena is clearly looking for something as she weaves through the space.  
  
"Ah - there," she says, and points to a corner where a small stall, composed only of a wagon, a pot, and a burning fire, is attended by a young girl.  
  
" _Monin_ , _Cara_ ," Helena says as she approaches, and continues in Trigedasleng. " _Selling by yourself today? Where's Granny?_ "  
  
" _At home, by the fire_ ," the girl answers in kind. She looks to be Ronnie's age, and completely unbothered by being alone. " _This is my thirteenth winter, I can handle it by myself_."  
  
" _I'm sure you can_ ," Helena grins, and motions over her shoulder. " _This is my friend, Clarke. She's never had chocow_."

" _Nice to meet you, Cara,_ " Clarke says. She still has no idea what _chocow_ is, but the contents of the pot appear to be dark, bubbling, and smell absolutely delicious. " _Helena tells me this is the best chocow in the city_."

" _S_ _he told you right!_ " The girl beams, her chest puffing with pride. " _Want one too, Helena?_ "  
  
" _You know I do_ ," Helena responds, and Cara picks up a small clay cup and pulls a ladle from the pot.  
  
The drink she pours from it is indeed thick, and steams in the cold all the way from the pot to the cup. The smell of sugar and cocoa becomes even stronger then and when Helena pushes the cup into Clarke's hand, her mouth is already watering.  
  
"Be careful," she warns in English, a grin on her lips, "it's hot."

Clarke does blow on the drink, technically. It's more like she breathes on it before pressing it to her mouth, too anxious to try it to be concerned about the liquid burning her lips.  
  
It does burn, but the heat dissipates quickly and is replaced by a delicious, creamy chocolate mixture. Clarke barely notices the noise she makes - somewhere between an _mmmm_ and a muffled _wow_ \- or she might be embarrassed. Instead, she's too focused on taking another sip.  
  
"That's amazing," she breathes after swallowing. " _Hot_ ," she corrects herself in Trigedasleng, " _but amazing_."

Cara " _hmph_ "s as she nods. " _That's right it is!_ "  
  
" _There is no replacement for your gram's recipe,_ " Helena tells her, and takes a few coins out of a pocket to give to her. She has elected to wait to drink hers, blowing on it intermittently. The puffs of her visible breath mix with the steam rising from the cup. " _Don't ever change it, okay?"_  
  
" _If I do, I'll save you some of the old stuff,_ " Cara grins. " _But I bet you'd like mine better. Bring back the cups, okay?"_  
  
Helena is already walking away, leaving Clarke to tow after her. She waves at the girl over her shoulder. " _I always do!"_

Once again, Clarke finds herself trotting after the other woman. “This,” she says, a little breathless already from the cold, “is so good. I’m insulted you haven’t introduced me to _chocow_ earlier, I would drink this every day.”

"You have to wait until it's truly cold outside to drink it," Helena answers, unperturbed by the suggestion. Despite being quick to leave, the chief doesn't seem to have any destination in mind; she leads Clarke on a quick but meandering path along the edge of the market, weaving between carts and stalls.

"I'm glad you introduced me to it, then." Clarke matches Helena's pace, glad after a few minutes for the warm energy it produces. "It'll be nice to have something to warm me up while I'm wandering around. I don't think I'll survive if I have to stay in that tower all winter."

"In that case, I'm glad to be of assistance," Helena answers. She takes a first, delicate sip. "What do you plan to do while you're here, anyway? Cozy up to the ambassadors, obviously, but if that's all you do you _will_ be in that tower all winter, and I would prefer to have a chance to talk to you come spring."

Clarke chuckles. “You’re right, I’ll have to find something to do. Being cooped up isn’t really my style, not since the Ark.”  
  
The market isn’t large but it is spread out, people wandering to and from their own carts and stands to chat with neighbors and friends. Like a small community within the larger populace that is Polis. “To answer your question though, I’m not sure what I’ll do. It won’t be enough to just wander around sketching. I doubt my hands would be able to handle the cold for long anyway. Perhaps I can help the healers, I can’t imagine disease and accidents are less common in winter.”

"Hmm..." Helena hums, taking another careful sip. Her thoughts move silently for a moment, before catching on something Clarke said. "Wait - sketching? Are you an artist?"

“Not a very talented one.” Clarke shrugs. “I like to draw, I’ve done it since I was a kid. And making a map of the city was a nice way to get acclimated when I first came here. I sketch what I see, usually.”

"Ah," Helena grins, "I bet that means you have a whole host of portraits of yours truly?"

“Not yet,” Clarke looks Helena up and down in a dramatic show of appraisal, finally meeting her eyes again with a smirk, “but maybe I’ll try my hand at it later.”

The sun had set long before they reached the stall, but as they meander around the market, Clarke knows that they have moved into the evening hours even without its help. The _chocow_ is warm, its rich, full sweetness warming her all the way down to her toes...for a time. Eventually, the cold drives them back to Cara's cart to return their cups, and then it's back to the tower.  
  
"Unfortunately, the Commander isn't the only one who has work to do," Helena sighs. "Especially if we're going to sort this fight out before we leave."

“Of course, I understand.” Clarke gestures for the lift attendant to stop on the kitchen’s floor. “Thank you for the walk, though. I hope I’ll see you tomorrow before you go. I’m desperate for as much casual interaction as I can get before I’m stuck with these politicians for three months.”

"Oh don't worry," Helena grins, and gives Clarke an aggressive pat on the back. "I'll be getting you good and drunk before I go. Flame knows I can't trust anyone else in this city to do it."

Clarke laughs and waves goodbye as she hops out of the lift. By now it’s past dinner and most of the regular kitchen workers have left, but Tera is still scrubbing a pot in the corner along with a few stragglers. Clarke wonders if she’s ever not working - certainly she’s never been in the kitchens when Tera hasn’t been present. The cook greets her by pointing with a sponge toward a pile of dirty pans in a nearby sink.  
  
About forty five minutes later, Clarke has earned her usual plate of food. She sits in the corner near the fireplace, now only smoldering, and thinks about what to do with her evening. It shouldn’t surprise her that her mind instantly takes her back to last night, but the memory gives her stomach a jolt and she coughs on a bite of bread at the intensity of the sensation. It took her so long and so, so many dramatic acts of mental gymnastics to allow herself to act on her feelings that the idea of keeping them bottled up any longer is too stifling to consider. It’s easy, then, to decide where she’d like to spend her evening - and with who.  
  
Tera just frowns at first when Clarke requests a wineskin to bring with her upstairs, and when she explains she’ll be sharing it with the Commander, Tera raises a skeptical eyebrow - but ultimately just shrugs and retrieves one from her storeroom. Clarke thanks her profusely and promises to come back in the morning and clean twice as many dishes in payment.  
  
About ten minutes later, Clarke finds herself knocking on Lexa’s door armed with a book in one hand and a wineskin in the other.

She can hear shuffling from the other side of the door, and in the interim Clarke is extremely aware of the guards standing at either far end of the hallway in stoic, unmoving silence. But then the door opens, exposing a Commander who is in the midst of tying the belt around a familiar black robe.  
  
"Clarke?" Just like last night, Lexa's eyes catalogue Clarke for injury or distress. Unlike last night, they alight on a wine skin - and she's visibly drawn up short. She looks up at Clarke. "Is there something you need?"

“No, not exactly.” She glances again back and forth at the guards and clears her throat. “Can I come in?”

"Oh - of course." Lexa looks fittingly awkward as she steps back and opens the door, leaving enough space for Clarke to enter.

Clarke steps into the room just enough for Lexa to close the door. She wanted to have a private conversation, but doesn’t want to necessarily encroach on Lexa’s space. Not yet, anyway.  
  
“I didn’t know if you’d be busy, but I didn’t feel like going to sleep...” she lifts up her arms and therefore also the things in her hands. “I wondered if you’d want to reprise our night of reading. Or at least some of it.” After last night, Clarke was worried that she’d feel awkward coming back here - that doesn’t seem to be the case. She smiles, already more confident at finally being alone again. “I had to bribe Tera with manual labor for this, so I’m really hoping you’ll say yes.”

That elicits a small smile from the Commander, who inclines her head. "Such hard work should be rewarded," she says. "I do have a bit more work to do, but you are welcome to join."

“Perfect.” Clarke spares another few seconds to take in the woman in front of her - the familiar curves of her body, now even more familiar, beneath the sheer black material of her robe - before walking straight over to the corner of the couch closest to the fire and flopping backward.  
  
She maneuvers a blanket with one hand and holds the wineskin out for Lexa with the other. “I’m assuming I can trust you to distribute this?”

Lexa's eyebrow lifts as she steps closer, taking the wine from her outstretched hand. "Only if I can trust you to make yourself comfortable," she says.

“You know I prefer to read here,” Clarke manages to unfold the blanket and drapes it over her bent knees. “Besides, I can see you were sitting right there,” she points to the chair closest to the fire and the stack of papers on the table directly in front of it, “so I didn’t steal your spot.”

"I noticed," Lexa says, a little grin turning the corner of her lips. She turns to collect cups from the corner of the room, wiggling the stopper from the skin with a pop as she does. "It's very kind of you to refrain from doing so."

"I would say I'm sorry for interrupting you, but I'm not entirely sorry." Clarke sets her book down on her thighs to take the cup Lexa now offers her with both hands. "What are you working on?"

"Reports, mostly," Lexa answers. She lifts the edge of the blanket back so she can sit down at Clarke's feet. Clarke immediately wiggles her toes under her thigh when she does and this time, Lexa hardly seems to notice. "Border disputes, trade disagreements." She sighs and lifts the cup to her lips, "At least they don't come with a body count. Usually, anyway."

“Usually,” Clarke agrees. She can sympathize with the idea of feeling grateful for any problems that don’t involve a body count. “Can I help? It seems I’m solving problems left and right today, why not one more.”

"I am grateful for your help earlier." Lexa sits forward to set her cup down, exchanging it for a thin stack of papers from the pile. "But I could not ask you to engage in something so boring when your book is doubtless more entertaining. Have you been enjoying it?"

“Kind of you,” Clarke chuckles. She takes a long sip of her own cup before setting it down as well. “I have! I haven’t had much time to read more, and I do know the story. But it’s interesting to puzzle out what some of these words are in Trigedasleng. Who knew you had a word for ‘ballroom?’”

" _Diskotek_ ," Lexa says with a knowing nod. "We may not have much reason for it these days, but we do dance. In some of my past lives, I found every excuse I could to host a...ball, I suppose."

“Oh, so you _do_ dance, then? I was worried it was just the prospect of dancing with _me_ that turned you off.” Clarke’s voice is clearly teasing to her own ears, but she wiggles her toes and smirks as Lexa glances up at her to drive the point home.

"I do not dance," the Commander corrects, but there's another grin in her eyes. "Not in this life, anyway. But it is not unheard of. It was nothing personal."

“You refuse to dance with a girl and it feels a little personal.” Clarke shrugs, but the smirk hasn’t left her face. “Maybe I’ll convince you someday. Otherwise I’ll be stuck with Ronnie as a dance partner which, now that I say that, doesn’t sound so bad. Kid’s got moves.”

"He does have impressive footwork for one his age," Lexa acknowledges - but there's a look in her eyes that suggests she isn't exactly a fan of the prospect of being replaced. "I have to give him that."

Clarke doesn’t miss the look, but doesn’t comment on it either. Just wiggles her toes farther under Lexa’s thigh and asks, “Should I let you get back to work?”

The Commander heaves a sigh, tapping the edge of her stack of papers against her thigh to get them all in alignment. "For a bit, if you don't mind. I do not imagine I will be able to interest myself in these for long."  
  
Clarke busies herself with her book, with the occasional ruffle and flip of papers from Lexa drawing her attention for a moment. She’s gotten much better at Trigedasleng in the short amount of time that she’s been reading in the language. If anything, it seems that reading a familiar book is even more helpful than listening to a native speaker - at least in the sense of learning vocabulary. Accent is another matter, but she’s never been much good at that.  
  
Eventually Lexa shifts and stands, dropping the papers onto the table with a sigh and moving to the other end of the room. The familiar piles of books is still present and Lexa rummages through them, making the occasional noise in frustration until she finds the book she’s looking for.  
  
When Lexa does sit back down - exactly where she was on top of Clarke’s feet, much to her amusement - Clarke can see that she’s chosen the copy of _Macbeth_ they’d found at the library.  
  
“Have you finished it yet?” Lexa looks at Clarke with a slightly confused expression, and she points at the book as she clarifies, “It’s a quick read, if you read it all at once. Did you finish it once already, or are you going through it slowly?”

"I'm afraid that with all that has been going on, I haven't had much time to spend with it." Lexa flips the cover open, glancing at Clarke as she thumbs through to the right page. "I was going to read for a time last night, but..."

“Ah, so it’s _my_ fault.” Clarke raises an eyebrow. “I suppose I owe you, then. I won’t interrupt. Unless you want me to.”

There's a hesitation in Lexa's eyes that Clarke isn't used to seeing - not a bad sort of hesitation, quite the opposite. Rather than let herself find some excuse to resist, Clarke can almost physically see Lexa convince herself to lower the book into her lap and say, "I am open to interruption."

Clarke is sure her eyebrows could not get higher on her forehead. "Is that so?"  
  
Lexa's eyes meet Clarke's and she nods.  
  
The blanket is easy to discard and Clarke flips her body around so that she's sitting next to Lexa, facing the table. Her cup of wine is a few sips from being empty but Clarke puts her book down and brings the cup to her lips, downing it in one gulp. Her eyes never leave Lexa's, and the Commander doesn't try to move away. "Well okay then." They're incredibly close, just like last night, and like last night Clarke desperately wants to close the space between them. But this time she forces herself to wait. "How would you prefer to be distracted, Lexa?"

Green eyes flick down to her lips, and Clarke watches Lexa as she gulps. The Commander has gone a little stiff beside her, but - blessedly - not in the way that she has gone rigid before. If anything, she'd guess Lexa is just as aware of how little she would have to move to touch her as Clarke is.  
  
"You..." she says haltingly, eyes returning to Clarke's. Her mouth forms around the word in such an inviting way, but as she looks quickly away, face reddening, it's clear she's chickened out. "Could tell me about the rest of your day?"

"I could do that," Clarke can't help a mischievous smile from tugging at her lips, but she does her best to keep a straight face. She stands, moving slowly and with enough intention that Lexa thankfully doesn't immediately rise to follow her. "Though you were there for most of it."  
  
Clarke turns to face Lexa and steps around her feet, trapping both her knees between her own and making it impossible for her to stand without pushing Clarke away. "After we left you with Titus," she moves her left knee onto the couch to the side of Lexa's hip, causing another conspicuous gulp from the other woman. Lexa’s hands lift to get out of the way but they hover, as though she doesn’t know where to put them. "Helena took me to a market on the outskirts of the city." Clarke leans forward and presses her left hand into the cushion behind Lexa, keeping herself balanced. She moves her right knee to Lexa's other side and leans back, now straddling the Commander's lap. "She introduced me to _chocow_ ," Clarke abandons any attempt to hide her smile as Lexa's eyes get progressively wider and attempt to look anywhere but four inches in front of them at Clarke's chest, "and I think it might be my new favorite drink."

Lexa's breath is coming carefully, measuredly through her nose as she looks up at her, the color in her face deepening. "It is quite good..." she says, uselessly, eyes drifting over the angle of Clarke's neck, to the corner of collarbone visible beneath the V of her henley. Her hands, gripping fiercely to the couch cushion and book at either side of her, respectively, gradually loosen and settle, with utmost delicacy, on Clarke's hips. "Very sweet."

"I have been told I have a bit of a sweet tooth," Clarke says. The nonchalance in her voice barely betrays her increasing heart rate. She carefully reaches for the knot holding Lexa's robe closed and watches her eyes for any sign of hesitancy as she delicately unties it. Lexa doesn't stop her and she doesn't look distressed, only... nervous? Excited? Maybe both. Clarke hasn't had quite enough experience with this particular look in Lexa's eyes to accurately identify it, but it doesn't read as displeased when Clarke parts her robe and fingers the fabric of a loose, surprisingly soft black tank top. "I never thought I'd find anything to satisfy it down here, though."

"In that case..." Lexa's voice is more breath than sound as she lifts a hand from Clarke's hip. She presses it instead to Clarke's cheek, cupping her jaw while calloused fingers splay across the back of her neck. The touch pulls Clarke interminably closer, though Lexa stops just short of kissing her. "I am glad we could prove you wrong."

"You often do," Clarke breathes. She doesn't move, feels suddenly rooted in place by the look in Lexa's eyes and a feeling in the pit of her stomach. Despite every good reason to be, Clarke hadn't truly felt unsure at any point last night. She knew what she wanted and had finally allowed herself to have it. But now...for some reason she feels hesitant.  
  
Lexa's expression is earnest, as always. Clarke moves imperceptibly closer, allowing their lips to just barely graze each other. The touch makes her shiver, but she forces herself to stay still. She glances back and forth between Lexa's eyes, searching for...something. Some indication that this time, she won't be proven wrong. Not again - not with this.

"Is this alright?" Lexa whispers against her mouth. Her hand is still soft on Clarke's jaw but the rest of her remains perfectly still, neither pushing her away nor pulling her closer - just watching, checking, searching Clarke's eyes even as Clarke searches hers.

Clarke doesn't answer, not with words. Her impatience returns like it was never gone in the first place and she pushes forward, crushing Lexa's lips against her own and causing the Commander to lean back against the couch. Whatever it is she was feeling, being this close soothes it to the point where she barely remembers it was there. Her mouth remembers how their lips move together, her skin burns where Lexa touched her yesterday - where she's desperate for her touch now. Every corner of her is filled with _Lexa_.

She shivers when she feels fingers at the hem of her shirt. Lexa's other hand has moved upwards, the tips of her fingers sliding beneath her shirt and pulling the fabric up as they skirt upwards. It's a soft touch at first, but just as the hand at Clarke's neck pulls her closer, deeper, it firms up. Lexa sits forward, pressing the whole of herself against Clarke, and at the same time flattens her hand against Clarke's lower back. The pressure there pushes Clarke's hips into hers, as though she fully intended to be consumed by her - or vice versa.

Every inch of her front is pressed against Lexa and it still doesn’t feel close enough. Clarke makes a sound in the back of her throat, half purr, half growl. She pushes forward even further, unwilling to acknowledge that they couldn’t possibly get any closer. Lexa doesn’t seem to mind - she presses back against her just as fervently, her hand hot on Clarke’s back, and tugs at her shirt with the other.  
  
Clarke takes as little time as possible to break away, pull her shirt over her head and toss it to the floor. It takes a few seconds at most but they both sigh like it’s been hours when their lips meet again.

Lexa makes a sound against her lips, their teeth clicking painfully for a moment in their fervor. "I have been thinking of this," she confesses in a gasp, words stolen between the press of kisses, "all day long."

“Really?” Clarke takes a second to grin against Lexa’s lips. “Just like this, with me on top of you?”

Her shoulders shrug beneath Clarke's hands. "Something like it," she says, and then stands.  
  
Clarke gasps, hands scrambling to find grip on Lexa before she falls, dumped out of the Commander's lap. But she doesn't fall. Lexa's hands find their way beneath Clarke's thighs, which she hitches around both of her hips. The muscles in her shoulders and arms flex as, with little effort otherwise, Lexa lifts Clarke against her even as she stands.

“Okay, I knew you were strong,” Clarke’s heart is racing, her breath coming in such shallow bursts she can barely get her words out, "but this is a surprise.” She moves her hands from Lexa’s shoulders to grip her neck and kisses her - slowly, reminding herself that gentle and soft is just as incredible as desperate passion. Better, even. “An impressive surprise.”

Lexa smiles against her lips, balancing Clarke's weight against her hips. "I think you'll find I'm full of surprises," she says, and when Clarke bends to kiss her again, she catches her lower lip between her teeth. "It keeps me alive."  
  
The hardest part of getting into the bedroom is dealing with the divider's curtain. Luckily, Clarke's hands are not as busy as Lexa's and, in a moment, Lexa is spilling her onto the bed and climbing up after her.

Clarke had managed to push the robe from Lexa’s shoulders before they reached the bed, leaving only her tank top and equally as soft black pants. But still, it feels like far too many clothes. She tugs, insistent, on the fabric of her shirt until Lexa finally pulls it off herself.  
  
Her fingers trace gently, reverently, over the tattoos on Lexa’s skin. The curve of her neck and collarbone, down and around her breasts. “Even though I never allowed myself to imagine it,” she murmurs, “I know anything I could’ve come up with would pale in comparison. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this view.”

A blush comes to Lexa's face, and it's no wonder - her skin is warm and alive beneath Clarke's hands. "Surely you could have drawn something better," she demurs, and dips her head to kiss along Clarke's collarbone.

“I draw what I see,” Clarke repeats for the second time that day, “and I’ll be happy to do just that, someday.” She punctuates that idea with a flourish of her wrist, sending a fingernail over Lexa’s nipple and making her hiss. “My imagination is better served in other arenas.”

Lexa retaliates with a bite against her collarbone, even as she smooths the straps of Clarke’s bra off her shoulders. "And?" she asks, pushing one hand beneath Clarke's back. It takes her several seconds of fumbling, but she figures out how to get the clasp undone. "What arenas are those, pray tell?"

“Some aren’t so attractive, I admit.” Clarke lifts herself up slightly, allowing Lexa to pull the bra off her. “Politics. Manipulation. Some might say lying, but I don’t think of myself as a liar.” She watches Lexa’s gaze rake over her body, her pupils dilating instantly at the sight. Clarke smirks and pushes herself up on an elbow, leaving her other hand free to push the hair back from Lexa’s face. “But what I lack in experience, I make up for in imagination. And persistence.” She brings Lexa’s face down to hers and nips at her chin. The Commander’s breath leaves her in a sigh. “Especially when I feel inspired.”

While she's saying all this, Lexa's hands have busied themselves elsewhere. A few tugs rock her hips, before she hears and feels her belt clink open. Then it's the front of her pants. By the time she bites Lexa, the Commander is already shifting her weight backwards.  
  
"And what is it," she asks, tugging off one of Clarke's boots, then the other. She's methodical, precise, and - as in all things - utterly dauntless. "That inspires you?" She strips her of her pants, and stands waiting between Clarke's knees, bent over the edge of the bed. "What, above all else, inspires you, _Klark kom Skaikru?"_

Clarke watches all of this from her position perched on her elbow. Her heart rate pulses impossibly faster, her skin growing hotter by the second in anticipation, but she doesn’t look away from Lexa’s eyes for a moment. By the time Lexa has removed her clothes and stands expectantly between her legs, Clarke can feel a bead of sweat - from the overwhelming heat of the candles, the room, her own body - drip between her breasts.  
  
“You,” Clarke says. Her confidence allows her voice to betray little of her racing heart and inability to catch her breath. Little, but not all. “Always you, _Leksa_.”

There's a crack in the Commander's veneer. She had goaded Clarke, pushed her towards this answer, but from the look that flashes through her eyes in that moment...she didn't expect to get it.  
  
Her face reddens again, and a small, soft smile turns her lips. "Perhaps I should show you, then," she says, and kneels between Clarke's legs, "what you inspire in me."

Clarke doesn’t have much time to respond to that - Lexa doesn’t waste time in any facet of her life, and she doesn’t start now. Her mouth finds Clarke’s center and Clarke groans at her body’s instant response.  
  
For all the lack of preamble, Lexa is deliberate and slow in her actions. She explores every inch of Clarke with her tongue, nibbling and sucking and making Clarke squirm with pleasure and impatience. She traces patterns along Clarke’s thighs with her hands, intermittently holding them in a tight grip and gently exploring them with her fingertips.  
  
At first it just feels incredible, and Clarke revels in the attention Lexa lavishes on her. Despite everything she’s been through, Clarke hasn’t had a huge number of sexual experiences - and certainly none of her partners have been as devoted to her pleasure as Lexa has thus far proven to be. But after a while, Lexa’s ministrations begin to move from enjoyable to nearly unbearable in their gentleness. Clarke has no idea how much time has gone by, but soon Lexa has her writhing on the bed, her fists clenched firmly in the fur blankets. Every swipe and motion of Lexa’s tongue elicits a wave of electricity through her body, almost but never quite pushing her over the edge. The muscles in her legs shake and she pants and moans in desperation, utterly unconcerned with the prospect that someone - or many someone’s - in the tower might be able to hear.  
  
“Lexa,” Clarke finally breathes. “Lexa, _please_.”

The change is immediate. Lexa responds with an apologetic sound, and the speed and accuracy with which her pattern changes has Clarke thinking she'd gotten distracted - so lost in what she was doing that she had forgotten there was an end goal in mind. But then her tongue settles directly on Clarke's clit, and all thought is obliterated.

Clarke’s body arches and she moans, loud and wanton and totally unconcerned with anything other than Lexa’s tongue pressing against her. The Commander clearly knows what she’s doing and in a matter of minutes, she has Clarke utterly unraveled beneath her.  
  
A few final, purposeful swipes of Lexa’s tongue and Clarke’s body gives in. She’s only vaguely aware of the sounds that erupt from her mouth and Lexa’s hands digging firmly into her thighs, keeping her grounded and in place. Lexa doesn’t let up, somehow is able to fully continue her ministrations on Clarke’s clit even as she comes, and the result is a powerful, deliciously prolonged orgasm that has her panting, her muscles refusing to move, by the time Lexa finally releases her.

The Commander pauses where she kneels, and Clarke is vaguely aware of her moving her hand across her mouth and chin. Then she stands, positions a knee between Clarke's, and lifts herself onto the bed.  
  
"Few things are more inspiring," she breathes, and with her weight on her hands, Lexa leans down to kiss her.

“I think,” Clarke takes a breath and pauses to kiss Lexa back. “I think that performance was inspiring. Damn.”

Lexa grins against her lips, and chuckles softly. "I take great pride in my work," she says against her skin. "Come here."  
  
She rolls onto her back and helps maneuver the both of them up to the pillows. Still a little boneless, Clarke nuzzles into Lexa's neck and uses her free hand to trace lines and circles over Lexa's chest. "I don't think I've felt this relaxed in..." Clarke hums, trying to think through the post-orgasm haze. "Maybe ever. All politicians should be having sex regularly, it would really calm them down."

"It is much harder to feel indignant after an orgasm," Lexa agrees, laughing at the idea. Her arm is warm and strong around Clarke's shoulders, her fingers trailing along her side. Her skin is still sensitive, but Lexa's touch is light. "Much harder to stay angry when your opponent is in your bed."

"How convenient that we've found an enjoyable way to resolve our differences," Clarke muses. Despite the total uselessness of her limbs just minutes ago, energy returns to her muscles quickly. Her hand moves down to the hem of Lexa's pants and she fingers the laces keeping them on her hips loosely. Before Lexa can tighten her grip on Clarke's shoulders, she pushes herself up and pulls the pants down Lexa's thighs. "I see no reason why you should still have clothes on."

"That you haven't taken them off seems a good enough reason," Lexa says simply, but she makes no move to stop her. On the contrary, she lifts her hips to facilitate it.

Clarke tosses them at the foot of the bed and climbs on top of Lexa, making a pleased _hmmmm_ sound as their bodies press together, unhindered by clothing. "Much," she purrs against Lexa's neck, placing kisses slowly down the length of it, "better."

Lexa makes an _mmph_ sound around a bitten lip, her hips arching upwards against Clarke's. Hands find Clarke's shoulder blades, her fingers digging into the crevices there. "Satisfied?" she breathes, and it sounds almost pained.

"No." Clarke adjusts her knee to settle between Lexa's legs, pressing her thigh forward against her center and earning a whimper from the Commander. Her lips make it down to Lexa's collarbone and she bites down, gently, on the thin skin there. "Not yet."

" _I_ _nsatiable_..." Lexa breathes. She bends her leg, the movement pushing her up against Clarke's thigh again, letting her feel the heat and dampness that had gathered there - all while giving Lexa the leverage she needs to flip them. Clarke finds herself once more on her back, her head ringed by Lexa's forearms. The Commander keeps her head low, her nose brushing Clarke's as she whispers, "I should have known."

Undaunted, Clarke traces her fingers down the muscles of Lexa’s stomach and nudges her nose up enough to find her lips again. “You should have,” Clarke agrees against her mouth. In the same instant that her fingers find their way down between Lexa’s legs and press against her clit, her left hand grips the back of the Commander’s neck and crushes her mouth down harder against her own.

The open-mouthed gasp that Lexa emits is trapped against her mouth, and Clarke swallows it down with delight. Lexa might be on top, but Clarke works quickly to make sure that it's clear who's in charge; in mere seconds, Lexa's arms are straining to hold the weight that her legs will no longer support.  
  
"Clarke..." she gasps, before her mouth clamps feverishly to hers.

Lexa manages to hold herself up enough that Clarke has more or less full access to her. She's impressed at Lexa's ability to keep herself in this position, glancing appreciatively now and again at the muscles straining against the skin of her arms to either side of Clarke's head.  
  
Slick wetness drips around Clarke's fingers as she massages Lexa's clit. The Commander groans into her mouth and breaks away to gulp in a necessary breath. Clarke takes the cue to turn her attention elsewhere. She bites her way down Lexa's neck and onto the top of her shoulder, all the while firmly keeping Lexa's head down close to her with a hand behind her neck. Lexa could move if she wanted to, of course - Clarke wouldn't stop her and either way would have little chance of doing so - but she lets Clarke lead and after a few minutes is only barely keeping herself upright.

She pushes herself onto one elbow, locking her weight on it and stretching her arm out to the side to balance herself. Her fingers clutch at the sheet now exposed beneath the disheveled furs, and Clarke finds herself working in a confined space when her knees give way. If there is a change in the pattern, however, Lexa doesn't seem to notice; her hips move with Clarke's fingers, straining for release, and as her moans give way to gasped words, she slips into Trigedasleng.  
  
" _Beja. Ai gon -- Klark, ai gon--_ "  
  
There are a number of possible explanations at play in that moment. It's possible that, with the immediate novelty of the act out of the way, Lexa finds herself better able to let go. It is also possible that after a few hours of practice the night before and yet more rehearsal in her mind's eye since, Clarke has a better sense of where to touch and when. Perhaps most possibly, fucking Clarke first meant that Lexa was already more than primed before Clarke even touched her. But whatever the reason, she comes apart now, sooner and longer, than she had that first time last night; the arm holding her up gives way, her hand finding a place beneath Clarke's head. Fingers twisting into her hair, Clarke finds herself pressed into the damp skin at Lexa's shoulder, the sound of her cry at her ear. The whole of her strains and trembles in turn, clinging to Clarke as she draws every electric pulse out of her that she can - and it is _glorious_.

Clarke is reasonably sure that if Lexa had taken even one more minute, she would've come with her just from the experience of witnessing Lexa's orgasm alone. As it is, Clarke pants along with her, bringing her down slowly until finally trailing her hand back up her side. Clarke gently moves her body upward and meets absolutely no resistance from Lexa. She shifts the Commander onto her back and props herself up on an elbow, giving herself a better view of the woman in front of her.

Clarke notices anew that the braids that usually adorn Lexa's hair are gone, leaving it to spill free in dark, wavy rivulets across the pillows and beneath her shoulders. It's darker near her temples, where sweat glistens in the candlelight, and a flush of red rises, unbroken, from beneath the black of the flame on her chest, up her neck, to break across her cheekbones. With eyes closed and kiss-swollen lips parted around gasps for air, she is utterly oblivious to Clarke's eyes; for a few, precious seconds, she can see Lexa for all she is, without the mantle of the Commander to shroud her from view. She is young, beautiful, and so very much alive.  
  
There are no tears this time, but when at last Lexa opens her eyes, her breath slowing, she looks no less vulnerable. She looks at Clarke from the corner of a hooded eye, for a moment too boneless to even turn her head. But then a hand, still trembling from the work of holding herself up and the force of coming undone, slips into Clarke's hair, and pulls her in for a soft, lingering kiss.

When she does eventually pull away, Clarke barely moves - just presses her forehead against Lexa's and sighs. "It is unbelievable how much better that is than I could ever imagine. Talk about inspiring."

"Inspiring?" Lexa chuckles. Her voice is a little rough, made hoarse by the dryness of her mouth. She tips her chin upwards, nosing Clarke's cheek. "None of that was my doing."

“On the contrary, it was _all_ your doing.” Clarke can’t quite stop herself from touching her, her free hand fingering the curves and scars on Lexa’s body. “In fact, I’ll prove it to you again. If you like.”

"I think I need a moment," Lexa says, eyes closing as she grins. "You are--" she sucks a breath in as Clarke grazes still-sensitive skin, "quite thorough."

“I tend to finish what I start,” Clarke muses, and brushes her lips along Lexa’s ear.

Lexa's hands slip down, one to Clarke's shoulder, the other to her back. "I admire that about you," she says, and tugs Clarke down to lay beside her.

Clarke hums, pleased to have Lexa nestled against her in a near perfect reverse of their positions from minutes ago. The Commander’s head rests on her shoulder, her arm splayed almost lazily across her chest. “You share that quality, I think.” She runs her fingers along Lexa’s ribs, causing the other woman to shiver beneath her.

Her head turns into her, nose and cheek and temple pressing into Clarke's shoulder until the shiver passes. "Then it seems we are well matched."  
  
A comfortable silence settles for a moment. Lexa's hand, no longer content to lay motionless, begins to trace patterns on Clarke's skin. Fingers drift over ribs, down her side, over her stomach, across her hips. Those parts of her all used to be softer, Clarke thinks idly as she watches and feels. The whole of her was softer, once; all unbroken skin and rounded edges. Not so much, these days.  
  
Lexa's voice takes her from those thoughts. "Do your people not have tattoos?" she asks quietly, against Clarke's shoulder. Her thumb traces over her hip bone, worrying the rise of it.

“I doubt that would’ve been considered a good use of resources.” Clarke traces her fingers along Lexa’s back where she can reach, over her shoulder blade and spine. “I like yours, though. Why a tree?” she asks, even as her fingertips graze over one of its empty branches.

"Mm," Lexa hums, closing her eyes to better enjoy the touch. "Commanders aren't allowed to have homes among the clans," she says, hand settling on Clarke's sternum. "Once a child is discovered to have Nightblood, they become the property of the Flamekeepers; they belong to no clan, have no chieftain." She shifts her head a little, pressing her nose to Clarke's skin. "But I remember mine."

“You were from _Trikru?”_ Even as the words leave her mouth, it clicks together in her head. Her familiarity with Indra, Arkadia’s location seeming somehow personal... “I didn’t know that.”

Lexa nods. "The symbolism of the tree also reminds me to stay grounded. That we're all one body, many branches growing from the same trunk." She opens her eyes, tips her head up to look at Clarke, and smiles. "Or so I would tell anyone, if they asked. In reality, it's for _Trikru_."

Clarke chuckles. "Your secret is safe with me." She subconsciously pulls Lexa against her side tighter as her hands continue their exploration of her back. "What would I get if I got a tattoo...hmm..."

Green eyes light up, and Lexa raises an eyebrow. "Are you interested in getting one?"

“I might be.” Clarke shrugs, which in her current position is more like moving one shoulder slightly. “I just don’t know what. I don’t think I’d like to have a spaceship permanently etched on my skin.”

"A fair assessment," Lexa grins. "I don't know that my people would know how to recreate one anyway.  
  
"Many tattoos have meanings," she continues, "or mark events, as when a Second finishes their training. But it is not uncommon to have one merely because one likes the look of it." She shifts her head a little, settling to see Clarke more clearly. "Perhaps you could design one for yourself."

“Not a bad idea. I’ll have to think of something meaningful to draw.” The way Lexa is situated against her now, Clarke can just see the tattoo running along her spine. “Did you design this one yourself?” she asks, her thumb roving over the contours of Lexa’s spine, almost outlining the several intersecting lines and spheres on her skin.

There's a moment when Lexa doesn't know which one Clarke is asking about, she can see it in her eyes. But then Lexa looks away, and she nods. "I did."

Clarke doesn’t miss the sudden shift in Lexa’s mood. “What does it mean?”

She doesn't respond for a moment. With her head tipped down, Clarke can't see her face; she can only feel the light scratch of her fingernails as she moves them against her skin. Then Lexa lifts her head, uncurling a little from Clarke's side so she can lay her head beside hers on the pillow, their eyes now on a level.  
  
"Can we talk about something else?" she asks softly.

Clarke turns her head to face Lexa and nods. “Of course. We can also just...” she touches Lexa’s lower lip, still a little swollen, and smirks, “not talk.”

That brings the light back to Lexa's eyes. When she lifts her head this time it's to lean over Clarke, the whole of her body half on hers. With her dark hair hanging like a curtain around them, she takes a moment to drink in the sight of Clarke's face. "I think I would like that."

Clarke’s smirk turns into a grin and she pulls Lexa’s mouth back to hers. “I think I would too.”  
  
They take turns exploring each other’s bodies, discovering the sensitive spots on their skin, the little adjustments to their fingers and tongues that makes the other unravel with pleasure. After nearly two hours, they roll away from each other for a moment, both panting desperately. It’s clearly dark outside and has been for some time. The candles burn almost to the point of extinguishing themselves in their own pools of wax. Neither Clarke nor Lexa need to speak - Clarke simply rolls back over, her head nestled up against Lexa’s shoulder and her arm thrown around her waist, and closes her eyes. In minutes, she’s fast asleep.

Her mind is active that night, supplying all sorts of dreams. Lexa features in many of them and, later, Bellamy and Raven and Octavia. Even Abby makes an appearance at one point. But when she wakes a few hours later, that's about all she remembers of them; a refreshing change of pace from the nightmares that stick with her into the daylight hours.  
  
The bedroom is still dark when she opens her eyes, most of the candles burned out and those still lit burning low. The sky outside is just barely lightning to blue along the horizon, making it several hours before sunrise - and even longer before she usually wakes up. It takes only a moment to ascertain what it was that woke her.  
  
"Apologies, Clarke." Lexa is sitting, propped up against a pillow and the carved headboard. Clarke's position has shifted as a result, her head resting on Lexa's stomach now instead of her shoulder. "I did not mean to disturb you."

“It’s alright.” Clarke blinks a few times to get her eyes to focus in the dim light. She shifts to the pillow next to her and tilts her head up to better see Lexa. “Though this is pretty early to be awake, even for you.”

Lexa isn't looking at her. Her hand rests on Clarke's shoulder, but it feels like absent, dead weight; her eyes are directed somewhere off to the side. "It is," she says. "It's too early to be up. You should go back to sleep."

Clarke’s eyes narrow, concern pooling in her stomach. “Lexa? What’s wrong?”

She doesn't answer.

Concern turns rapidly to panic, which is as annoying as it is sudden. Clarke has no reason to assume something is wrong, but the way Lexa avoids her eyes, the way her muscles stiffen beneath her every time she moves...  
  
“Lexa. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She still refuses to meet her eyes, even as she pulls her arm back from Clarke's shoulders. Lexa turns then, sitting up and pulling her legs out from under the covers to hang them off the side of the bed. Clarke hears her say something under her breath.  
  
" _Hod laik en kwelness._ "

Adrenaline fills her blood and forces Clarke’s heart rate to skyrocket. The force of it makes her feel sick to her stomach. She sits up and reaches toward Lexa, touches her shoulder gently. “Lexa...”

The Commander stands. She slips out of Clarke's grasp, and though she's naked she can see her armor going back on. Her back straightens, her shoulders stiffen, and she doesn't turn around.  
  
"We shouldn't be doing this," she says. It's dark in the room, but Clarke can see the black tattoo on her spine stand out against her skin. For a brief moment, it looks like the color of her blood.

“We shouldn’t be doing this?”  
  
Clarke’s brain, still half asleep, struggles to process the situation. Lexa walks over to her robe, discarded haphazardly on the ground, and pulls it on. Still, she never looks back at Clarke.  
  
“We _are_ doing this. We’ve _done_ this.” Clarke pushes herself up and sits up straight, forcing herself into being as alert as possible. “I’m not sure what ‘shouldn’t’ has to do with it anymore.”

"It's dangerous, Clarke." Lexa ties a knot in the belt of her robe, then lifts her hair out of its neck. Only then does she turn to look at Clarke - and when she does, Clarke has a fleeting, sickening vision of her face at Mount Weather, streaked with black and stained with other people's blood. "The longer this goes on, the farther word of it will spread. Our enemies are on the rise, and if they hear of it they will use it against us."

“So what?” Clarke shrugs and forces her voice into its normal register despite the panic that threatens to seep in. “Our enemies will look for ways to hurt us regardless. We’ll fight them together...” her voice trails off as the image returns - Lexa at Mount Weather, turning away and abandoning them. Abandoning her. “After everything...haven’t we earned this? This, at least?”

Lexa does turn away, partially. In the faint light of the gathering dawn, Clarke can just see the shine of her eyes as they look up, then down.  
  
"Our people need us to be strong," she says, but Clarke is having a lot of difficulty hearing the words _our_ and _us_. To her ear, they sound a lot more like _my_ and _me_. "You have met Nia of _Azgeda_ , you know what she seeks to do. If she succeeds there will be war, and all that we have worked to do—"

“And us being together...however we are, is going to make that happen?” Clarke has never been a patient person, but this particular fuse has been shortened by months and months. By constant disappointment, by endless doubt, by everything in her life pulling her farther and farther away from what she wants. And now that she almost had it...she did have it, just a few hours ago. Now the fuse is nonexistent.  
  
“What kind of convoluted logic got you there? Acknowledging your feelings will lead to Nia’s victory? That’s insane. Don’t rationalize your self doubt like this, please.” Clarke is out of the bed and on her feet before she knows it, but she tries one last time. She can’t not try one more time. “Lexa, don’t do this. _Please_ , don’t.”

"What choice do I have??" Lexa's temperament breaks in the face of Clarke's accusation, and with arms folded behind her back, she turns to face her. "These feelings make me vulnerable, and put _you_ in danger."

“I’m always in danger!” Clarke’s heart rate does not slow, if anything it pounds harder against her ribs. “Is that what this is about? My _safety?_ You can’t guarantee that, now or ever.” Lexa’s brows furrow at that and she opens her mouth to interrupt, but Clarke keeps going. “I have to protect my people, just as you protect yours. That will always make me a target. Why does that suddenly matter more now? What will depriving yourself achieve, other than pain?”

"I will not make you a target because of me!" Lexa snaps back. Anger rises behind her eyes, her shoulders rising with the heat of it. " _That_ is what this will achieve. You are already in danger; fine. You bear that burden, same as any who lead in this world. But I will not add to it by claiming you as my own.  
  
"You speak as though the harm that would come to us will stop with us," she continues, pacing away by several steps, "but that is naive. If our enemies can get to us, if Nia can get to _me_ , this world that I have dedicated my life to building, have _risked_ _my_ _life_ to make, will crumble. The Coalition stands on the edge of a knife." Lexa turns on her heel, leveling a hard look at Clarke. "If it falls, the Sky People will be next."

“While it’s comforting that you’d consider my people’s safety in your decisions, stupid though they are,” Clarke shoves a foot angrily into the leg of her pants, recovered after a few moments of searching, “and while it’s a pleasant surprise to hear that you give a shit about your own life, I don’t buy it.” It would be an understatement to say that Clarke angrily yanks her pants up. It’s a miracle they don’t rip. “Your Coalition won’t crumble because you have feelings. Your actions, our actions, are within our control. We don’t have to do anything that would put our people in danger, and lov...”  
  
Clarke cuts herself off. “You’re letting fear dictate your decisions. You’re _still_ letting fear dictate your decisions.”

"Being prudent is not the same as being afraid." Lexa bites off the end of the word, her teeth baring while she speaks in that way they do when she's angry. Clarke ignores her, and goes on finding her shirt. "I am the Commander. My life is not my own. I will not put my people's safety at risk to suit my own selfish needs."

“Fine.” Clarke does eventually find her shirt in the other room and yanks it over her head. “I’m tired of arguing about this. I’m tired of trying to convince you that duty and leadership are better served by compassion than by impassive decisions. That they _aren’t_ impassive decisions, however hard you may try to tell yourself that.”  
  
Clarke takes several steps toward Lexa until they’re mere inches apart. The Commander doesn’t move, only clenches her jaw further as Clarke speaks. “I’m tired of hearing you justify your own cowardice. Love is not weakness, love is strength. Loving my friends and my family makes me stronger, and your fear of your own feelings is what makes you weak. I won’t do this again, Lexa. I won’t let you do this to me a third time.”

"I do not do this to you," Lexa says through her teeth. "I do this to _both_ of us. _For_ both of us.”

Clarke forces herself to wait. Just a few seconds. She looks back and forth between Lexa’s eyes, searching for something - anything. But she’s met with none of the warmth she’d allowed herself to so quickly become used to. Only an unrelenting, steely hardness.  
  
“Thank goodness I have someone like you to make all of my decisions for me.” It takes everything in Clarke to force her gaze from Lexa and turn her feet around, but she does. And as she leaves through the divider to Lexa’s bedroom, she says over her shoulder, “Have a good morning, Commander.”

"Clarke," she hears behind her. Then the sound of Lexa's footsteps. " _Clarke!"_   
  
She does not stop, and the next thing she hears is the crash of the door into its frame as she slams it behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever the drama queen, this one.


	3. Pigheadedness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Alcohol. Lots of it.

Clarke doesn’t concern herself with the guards or even pause to think that maybe she’d be better served by going back to her room. At least she could change, or wash off...  
  
She growls at herself, low in her throat, and throws the jacket she’d hastily snatched up from Lexa’s couch around her shoulders. It may be early, but she’s too awake now. Too awake for anything other than moving.  
  
Her feet take her to the lift, unmanned but easily maneuvered to the bottom floor, and she walks without much thought over to the training pitch. Sunrise has only just really begun on the horizon, hues of dark orange and pink pushing against the nearly black night sky. It’s cold - freezing, really - but Clarke doesn’t take much notice. She flips her hood up and pulls on her gloves before reaching the equipment pile.  
  
Lexa won’t miss her morning routine, Clarke is sure, no matter what she feels about their latest conversation. She refuses to let Lexa dictate whether or not she gets to train, and she’s sure as hell not going to stand around and watch her conduct her little exercises all morning. Clarke grabs a staff and flips it around a few times in her hands.  
  
She finds a dummy and sets it up, finding that the process takes nearly as much effort as a round of sparring. But once it’s erect, Clarke begins the forms Ronnie taught her. One after another, over and over, until her head is filled with nothing but the staff in her hand and the dummy in front of her.

The sky lightens, the shadow of the tower wall taking shape as the sun stretches the first of its fingers into the sky. It will be another clear morning, but Clarke takes no comfort in the purples and pinks that paint the horizon just beyond the battlements. She takes comfort in the satisfying sounds of her staff _cracking_ against the dummy's stuffing with all of her strength, the reverberation of each strike shaking an ache into the newly formed calluses on her hands. But the dummy, made of wood and straw and thick, frayed burlap, doesn't bruise. As the cold look in Lexa's eye surfaces again in her mind, Clarke wishes with all her might that it would.  
  
As predicted, the Commander does not allow herself to skimp on her training for the day; she arrives on the training pitch with the sun. If she is surprised to see Clarke there, she does not show it. Their eyes meet for a brief moment as she approaches, but her expression betrays nothing and she says even less. Instead, Lexa ducks her eyes, and approaches the equipment pile without comment.  
  
Clarke rolls her eyes and tosses her staff back into the pile. Before she can decide whether to leave a note for Ronnie or not, the Nightblood in question comes bounding up to the fence around the training pitch, seemingly out of nowhere.  
  
"Clarke! Good morning!" His infectious grin is plastered across his face, but for once it does nothing to lift her spirits. If anything, it makes her more annoyed; his presence blocks her only avenue of escape. "I figured, since you were early yesterday, I would come early today to make sure...Clarke?"  
  
Having collected her weights, Lexa moves to hop the fence once more. Which means that she comes into view again while Ronnie is speaking, and her eyes briefly meet Clarke's once more.  
  
Clarke is confident that if looks could indeed kill, she’d have just inadvertently murdered the Commander. Or maybe not so inadvertently.  
  
“What?” Ronnie had asked her something and from the look on his face, he’s clearly noticed her lack of attention. “I’m sorry, Ronnie. Did you say something?”  
  
He glances back at Lexa, who has already turned away. With sandbags over her shoulders, she sets off at a jog around the perimeter of the tower; Ronnie looks back to Clarke, uncertainty and an abundance of questions in his eyes.  
  
"Are you alright?" Is the one he ends up asking.  
  
Clarke sighs. She could leave. She’d like to, really. But Ronnie’s smile, hesitant but still persistently present, is impossible to say no to.  
  
“Yes, I’m fine.” Clarke stretches her neck first one way and then the other, earning a loud crack from one side. “Just had a long night.” She pauses, and then half explains, “More nightmares. More real than usual.”  
  
"Oh." He sighs, eyes falling to the ground as he searches for some reassurance to provide. He catches sight of the dummy, still standing a lone sentry in the middle of the pitch, and smiles again. "Hitting things usually helps to clear my head," he says, and hops the fence to join her. "Wanna give it a try?"  
  
“I think I’ve already given it as good a beating as I can,” Clarke says, but still finds herself following him, a small smile starting just at the corner of her mouth. “But I’m open to testing that theory.”  
  
The ease of their rapport calms Clarke's anger for a while. Her focus on Ronnie and on his instructions allows her to forget about Lexa, about the vulnerability she had felt the night before, of the trust that had been dashed so quickly in those pre-dawn hours. Of course, it all comes racing back as soon as Lexa returns to continue her training, and not even Ronnie can prevent her mood from souring. She spends the rest of the morning with her back to Lexa.

By the time they’ve finished, Ronnie has smacked her several times more than usual with his sword and more than once commented on her lack of focus.  
  
“I’m sorry, Ronnie. My head’s not in the game today.” He nods in a way that he must think is sympathetic but really conveys an aggressive ‘you got that right.’ “I’ll be up and at em’ tomorrow, I promise.”

"This is twice in as many days, Clarke," he says, his head tipping to the side. "Are you sure you're alright?"

“Yeah, I’m alright.” She glances quickly over at Lexa without thinking and just as quickly forces her eyes back. “I’ve been letting myself get distracted. I think once all of the delegations leave and things are back to normal, I’ll be. Well, back to normal.”

"Okay..." Ronnie follows her eyes back to Lexa, and doesn't sound convinced. Nevertheless he doesn't press her on it, just looks back to her and says, "Just take care of yourself, okay?"

Clarke forces a smile and ruffles his hair a little. “I will, I promise. And if I don’t, you can yell at me tomorrow.”  
  
Ronnie lets it go, but spares a few extra glances back her way before running to join the other Nightbloods. At first, Clarke isn’t sure what to do. She is absolutely not staying here, but she doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Normally she would curb her more destructive instincts, or at least attempt to, but today it occurs to her that drinking is the thing to do and she makes no attempt to stop herself from walking straight to Helena’s room - the most obvious accomplice to this plan.

Luckily, there's an answer when she knocks. Helena sticks her head out, her hair wet and hanging over one shoulder. "Clarke?" she says, not even attempting to hide her surprise.

“So I realize this is your last day in the city.” Clarke shifts her weight on her feet, suddenly a little self conscious about this request but blazing ahead anyway. “And my proposal is that we drink...most of the day. And if we get into trouble, so be it. What do you think?”

Helena blinks, looking behind her into her room. She squints at the window. "It's not even noon, and you want to drink?" she asks, looking back at Clarke. After a moment, she shrugs. "I did promise to get you good and pissed before I go."  
  
Stepping back from the door, Helena opens it wide to let Clarke in. "Come on in, I'm just getting dressed."

Clarke follows her inside and leans against the door, hesitant even after all this to encroach too fully on Helena’s space. “Didn’t have the greatest morning, but I’m feeling confident the day will improve.” Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You seemed like the ideal partner in crime to assist with that, if you’re still willing.”

"For you? I'm always willing," Helena says, and winks at Clarke. She swings her hair over one shoulder, and bends over an open trunk that sits at the foot of the bed. She's dressed in what Clarke can only surmise are pajamas, but pulls a dress from the trunk. "What was so bad about your morning? Did you get your ass kicked by a little kid again?"  
  
The room itself is set up similarly to Clarke's, though it's clear that Helena has made herself far more at home over the past week and a half than Clarke had. Items that don't match the decor litter the room: articles of clothing, an assortment of accessories, soaps and perfume bottles. The air smells of something light and floral, the same scent that lingered on Helena the first time they met.

“Well yes, but my pride is used to that by now.” Clarke tilts her head, considering. “You know when you have a really good dream, and then you wake up and you suddenly hate reality for not being as good?”

"I used to have those a lot," Helena says. She holds the dress up for inspection before, apparently satisfied, tossing it on the side of the bed. She walks around to that side, facing Clarke in the process. "Before I just accepted that the world was shit and there wasn't much to do about it."

“That is. Exactly the feeling I woke up with.” Clarke sighs and shoves her hands in her pockets, suddenly tired. “And to think, I normally have nightmares.”

"At least then you have the knowledge that the shittiness was fake," Helena hums. Not one for modesty, the _Floukru_ chieftain makes no fuss about changing in front of Clarke. She begins to strip off her sleepwear as she says, "What was so good about this dream, if you don't mind me asking?"

“It doesn’t matter,” Clarke waves her hand dismissively. She likes Helena - a lot more than most people, if she were being honest with herself. But even as mad as she is, it doesn’t feel right to share what happened between her and Lexa. “It was silly to let it affect me so much. But it did put me in the mood for...” Clarke eyes the tattoos that cover Helena’s body, equally as unashamed of looking at them as Helena is of flaunting them, “debauchery, I guess is the word.”

A number are, perhaps unsurprisingly, nautical themed. A pair of swallows sing to each other from either side of her collarbones, spaced just far enough apart to be hidden by most necklines. Clarke spots a compass on her hip, and some sort of tentacled sea creature on her side. Her eye catches finally on an abstract swirl of a pattern that starts at her navel and disappears somewhere below the low rise of her pant waist, leaving one to wonder just how much of her sun kissed skin is covered in black ink. Helena glances up to find Clarke watching, and smirks.  
  
"If day drinking is what you call debauchery," she says, gathering up the fabric of the chosen dress across either arm. She then lifts it and drops it over her head, the fabric cascading down to cover her torso, hiding the tattoos from sight. "Then you have a lot to learn, my dear."  
  
The fabric is soft blue in color and looks to be a bit thinner than the weather would allow, Clarke thinks. It doesn't even have any sleeves, though Helena doesn't seem bothered by that in the least.

“I’m open to being shown the error of my ways,” Clarke matches Helena’s smirk and pushes herself forward off the door, “and I’m a quick learner.”

"I knew I liked you for a reason."  
  
She proceeds to strip off her pajama pants, replacing them with a thinner pair that are more legging than pant. That gets tucked into a pair of light, low ankle leather boots that match the thick belt she ties around her waist, gathering the excess flowy material of the dress into a more form fitting figure. It's as she comes back into the rest of the room, collecting bangles and bracelets to decorate her wrists, that Clarke notices an additional tattoo: a thin arrow, stretching along the inside of her left forearm.  
  
"Did you have somewhere in mind to begin your lesson?" Helena hums, affixing earrings to various spots in her ears. Her back is to Clarke at this point, such that she can use a small mirror on top of a desk to assist. As she speaks, however, she does look over her shoulder at Clarke. "Or something?"

“I admit I didn’t have much of a plan before coming here...” Clarke grins. “Unsurprisingly, I’m sure. But I’ve liked walking around the city, you’ve proven to be good company. Is there a way we could bring something with us...?”

"Of course!" Fixing the last back to the last earring, Helena turns fully to clasp Clarke's shoulder. "That's why the ancestors created wine skins."  
  
The final step in Helena's preparation is to pull on a long, heavy coat that, for an infuriating moment, reminds Clarke of Lexa's. But there is no pauldron to go with it, no badge of office, and Helena tucks a string of bottle cap coins into its folds. She then slings the strap of a wine skin over Clarke's shoulder and says, "Won't you be cold? Do you want a cloak?"

“So much I have yet to learn,” Clarke adjusts the strap of the wine skin around the collar of her coat. “I’ll be alright, but thank you. I anticipate feeling very warm in short order.”

Helena shrugs her shoulders. "Suit yourself."  
  
The Nightbloods are still at training by the time they leave the tower; Clarke can hear the sound of their practice echoing down the tower wall as they cross the courtyard. For a moment, her thoughts turn to Ronnie, the concern in his eyes not an hour ago, and suddenly verges on feeling guilty for the decision she's about to make. But mostly she's glad for the assurance that she won't risk running into the Commander on their way into the city, and she follows Helena into the street.  
  
The first stop is the market, where they find a stall selling mulled wine to passersby. The man running it tries to explain that the recipe isn't quite ready yet, but Helena assures him that it will be fine all the same. He fills the skin for them, they exchange a few coins, and they're off again.  
  
"What's the story of that knife you carry?" Helena asks Clarke after a time. They're standing in front of the smithy, where an array of knives of varying sizes and purposes are scattered. "Where did you get it?"

Clarke touches the knife at her back without thinking, surprised that Helena would ask about it. It’s felt like a part of her for so many months now that she barely notices it herself.  
  
“I found it, actually.” The sound of the blacksmith’s hammer grates at Clarke’s nerves, but the wine helps to dull the feeling. “I left my people after Mount Weather, and after the first few days realized that just leaving - with no food, no water, and no provisions of any kind - was probably not the best idea. I’d wandered up to the base of the mountains and I almost turned back. But then I thought I heard something...I don’t know, maybe it was nothing. But I hid in a nearby cave and there was a...” Clarke clears her throat. When exactly had she decided to tell this story? “A partially decomposed body. Just lying there. A young girl. Her clothes looked like she was from the Mountain, or maybe she’d escaped from there. Who knows. Either way she had this knife, and having this has saved me more times than I can count. I haven’t been without it since then.”

"That would explain why it's not like anything I've ever seen," Helena hums. She picks up one of the blades on display, gives it a twirl with her off hand. "Does it hold an edge?"

“Surprisingly well.” Clarke eyes the knife as it flips through Helena’s fingers. “I don’t know where she got it, it seems unlikely to me that the Mountain would take the time to craft such carefully made blades. Why would they need them?”

"Everyone needs a good blade, Clarke," Helena says. She flips the knife in the air, end over and end, and catches it again before she seems satisfied. "The uses of one are endless."

Clarke chuckles and flips her own knife around in her hands. She’s gotten so used to the balance of it, maneuvering it through her fingers requires almost no thought. “I’m sure that’s true, particularly in your hands. I still don’t really know what I’m doing with steel weapons. I think much to Ronnie’s disappointment.”

"He gets to kick the crap out of _Wanheda_ every morning," the chieftain responds. She says the name just a little too loudly, drawing the curious eyes of a few nearby shoppers. "I don't feel bad for him."

“I’m definitely improving,” Clarke protests. Despite Helena’s loud proclamation of Clarke’s title, the blacksmith pays far more attention to Helena. Showing her this and that blade, letting her test whatever knife she likes. “How did you learn to fight with knives, the way you do?”

"I've spent most of my life on ships. Living on ships, captaining ships, fighting on ships." Ultimately they walk away without a new purchase - though not for lack of candidates. There is little question that that smith knew precisely what he was doing. "Long swords and shields are impractical in quarters that are that close," Helena relieves Clarke of the wine skin long enough to take a drink, "and any sailor worth their salt is going to have a knife at hand. Defense and offense in one."

“They are handy, I’ll give you that.” Clarke still has a few coins leftover from one or more of her adventures and pays a baker for two slices of some savory looking pie. “But as heroic as that sounds, it seems more like a recipe for me patching people up than anything else. Want one?” She holds one of the slices up to Helena. “I skipped breakfast, and it occurs to me I might’ve forced you to do the same.”

"Oooh - don't mind if I do."  
  
They find a relatively deserted space where the market square and an alleyway form a corner, and lean against a wall to eat. The sound of hundreds of voices, some with accents and some without, play as accompaniment to their snack, and Clarke watches people of all ages and descriptions move through the market stalls. From this point, the press of humanity is much less daunting.  
  
"You know." Helena speaks from around a bite of pie, but pauses to finish it before continuing. "Speaking of patching people up - what you said yesterday. You like being a healer?"

Clarke takes a second to think about that. Does she like it? Or is she just called upon to do it more often than not? “I like some parts of it,” she decides aloud. “I like the work itself, and it’s gratifying to be able to help people. But I do sometimes resent how often the skill comes in handy.”

"Wish that you saw more scraped knees than knife wounds?" Helena smirks a little, and pops the last piece of her pie into her mouth. She then shrugs away from the wall and makes a show of brushing crumbs from her hands. "Well. If it is something you actually enjoy, I have something to show you. Maybe hold off on the wine for a minute."  
  
She leads her out of the market and further into the city, following the spokes of Polis' wheel to the far side of the tower. There, the line of homes and businesses on a main thoroughfare is broken by a long, squat building with only a door and a few windows facing the street. Beside the door, a hand painted sign has the Trigedasleng word for "healer" scrawled on it.  
  
Inside is a foyer filled with a number of busy bodies moving through open doors on either side, through which Clarke can just see lines of beds stretching down a long hall. It takes Helena a moment to find which of the bodies is the one she wants but, when she does, she ushers Clarke over to speak to a tall, thin man with short, curly dark hair.  
  
" _Klark_ ," she says, " _Em laik Karlyle kom Floukru. Em fis ai op manitem kom shodi_."

“ _Monin, Karlyle. Ai laik Klark kom Skaikru_.” The man nods at her, like he knows this already - which, it occurs to her now, he likely does. “It’s nice to meet you. Anyone who managed to keep Helena in one piece as a kid must be a talented healer.”

"She is quite talented at acquiring injury, as I recall," Carlisle says with a grin. His hair is darker than Helena's, and sits close to his scalp in tight curls. His dress is simple, clearly more utilitarian than appearance oriented; though no one here seems to be wearing a uniform per se, there is a consistency to the clothing of all who come in and out. "Welcome, Clarke. I have been told you have an interest in the healing arts?"

Clarke nods. “My mother is a doctor - a healer, to our people. I was training to become one myself before we came here.” She takes a closer look around, noticing only now that despite how few healers there seem to be compared to patients, the healers in attendance never stop moving. Their efficiency is impressive - Clarke has only ever had to focus on two, maybe three people at once. Always outside of a sterile environment, and almost never with the right equipment. She could do so much more in a place like this, with the proper tools and other healers to help. “The last year has been quite a crash course. I’d love to help out sometime, if you need an extra pair of hands.”

"As I'm sure you can imagine, we are always in need of an extra pair of hands," Carlisle sighs. "Helena has mentioned that you will be here through the winter?"  
  
"She's working as an ambassador for _Skaikru_ ," Helena fills in, looking between the two of them. "But seeing as being trapped in that tower for that long would be enough to make most people mad, I was hoping you could give her a way out."  
  
He grins again at that, and inclines his head. "If you are capable, and willing to follow direction, we will be more than happy to have your help, _Klark kom Skaikru_."

“Despite our differences, _Skaikru_ bleeds just the same as everyone else.” Clarke smiles back, already taking a liking to the man. He has an ease about him that’s surprising for someone with such a stressful occupation. “I think I can claim to be capable, and I’d love to learn more. I’m be happy to help.”

That is enough to satisfy Carlisle. He leads them on a short tour of the facility, which is essentially four long hallways with a courtyard in the middle. Each hallway is its own ward, and though they don't stop to tend to any patients, Clarke sees that about half the beds are full. Most look to be mundane injuries, broken arms and the like, but there are a few that bear the marks of sword and spear.  
  
"There will be more time to go into detail later," Carlisle says, leading them across the courtyard back towards the entrance. "For now, it is enough to know that you have an interest. Return here the next time you have a few hours to spare, and we can work out what your time here will look like."

“I look forward to it!” Clarke exclaims, and she means it. The prospect of having somewhere to be that isn’t politics related, and has nothing to do with Lexa, is appealing to say the least. Though just the thought of Lexa, whom she’d somehow managed to put out of her mind while she’s been in the clinic, darkens her mood again. “Thank you, Carlisle. I’ll see you soon.”

"I think he likes you," Helena says as they set off again. The sun is now a considerable bit past its zenith, marking their entrance into mid afternoon.

“I think I like him too.” Clarke takes a swig from the wineskin and holds it out for Helena. “Thank you for bringing me, it’ll be nice to have something else to focus on while I’m here. And thank you for bringing me before I drank much more of this.”

"I wouldn't want you to make a bad impression," Helena grins. "You don't want a drunken healer stitching you up, if you can avoid it. I have the scars to prove it."

Clarke laughs. “Not from Carlisle, I’m sure. He seems very professional. I’ll have to be on my best behavior when I go back.”  
  
The two of them wander around the city for a few hours, picking up more wine as they go. Despite having just met a week or so ago, conversation feels natural with Helena in a way that Clarke rarely experiences. Even talking with Lexa requires some thought - some consideration and choosing of words. With Helena though, Clarke is just herself. The _Floukru_ chieftain never seems to take what Clarke says the wrong way or misunderstand her, and she catches on Clarke’s meaning faster than most Grounders. It makes for easy conversation and Clarke hardly notices how late it is until they’ve found themselves in one of the larger parks, sitting up against a tree and watching the sky turn just a few shades darker.  
  
Clarke doesn’t feel like going back to the tower and Helena seems to read her mind - before Clarke can suggest something else, she guides them toward the closest bar and convinces several young men to give up their seats at a small table in the corner. How she does this Clarke has no idea, but she’s learned to accept that Helena usually, one way or another, gets what she wants.

"No need to look so impressed," she says when she catches Clarke's expression. She does immediately toss her hair over her shoulder with a flourish of her hand, which quite negates the sentiment just expressed. "Most people are willing to give a pretty face whatever it asks for."

“I’m sure you’re right. Don’t share that secret too widely though,” Clarke says in a serious voice, but a grin on her face utterly ruins the attempt, "or beautiful women are going to be taking advantage of me left and right.”

"What makes you think they aren't already?" Helena hums, and winks at her. She sits back in her chair as a bar hand drops two tankards of ale at their table. "I am intrigued, though. Only women? Are you not susceptible to masculine beauty?"

“Oh they absolutely are already,” Clarke mumbles as she takes the seat opposite. “But no, not only women. My last... partner? I don’t know what you’d call our relationship, but he was a man. I’ve been a little tired of men lately though, they tend to cause more trouble than they’re worth.”

"Mm. As a wise woman once said," Helena grins, picking up her mug. "Men are good for one thing. Women are good for five." And she drinks.

Clarke was mid-sip when Helena started talking and nearly chokes as she laughs. “Who was this wise woman?”

"A pirate queen of legendary status," Helena smirks. "I like to think of her as my role model."

“What sort of woman could possibly fill the shoes of role model for _Helena kom Floukru?"_

"Only the sexiest and most dangerous of women, of course."  
  
After a beat, Helena sets her drink down and leans forward in her seat. Elbows on the table, she levels a look at Clarke. "But hers is a story for another time, I think. You came out here to get thoroughly drunk, and so far I think you are maybe lightly buzzed. Is that true?"

Clarke takes another sip of her ale, eyeing Helena over the top of the cup. She swallows and shrugs. “More or less. I could absolutely be more drunk, if that’s what you’re asking.”

"It is what I'm asking. And to wit, I have a proposal." With a finger on the top of her tankard, Helena tips it slightly off its base. "We play a game."

Clarke narrows her eyes, already suspicious of the kind of game Helena might come up with. “What sort of game?

"It works like this." She lets her cup sit flat on the table again. "I will make a statement about you. If the statement is true, you have to drink. If the statement is false, I have to drink. Then we switch." Helena grins. "Sound fun?"

“Sounds deceptively simple.” Clarke imitates her and puts her cup back down. “But let’s do it. You go first.”

"Alright." Helena tips her head to the side and narrows her eyes a bit, making a show of examining Clarke's face. "I will say...hm. Let's start clean and simple: you have siblings."

“No siblings. In fact, having one would have been treason.” Clarke points at Helena’s cup, a smirk forming on her face. “Drink.”

Both of Helena's eyebrows rise so high that one disappears into the sweep of her bangs. She doesn't lower them or break eye contact as she lifts her cup to her lips.  
  
"Treason?" she repeats, putting the cup back down after drinking. "For having kids?"

“Yep. I know, it’s harsh. But so was life...” Clarke swirls her drink around, almost wishing Helena had guessed right so she could take a sip. “So is life, I guess, but on the Ark oxygen was a commodity. The more people are born, the more oxygen they use. The less likely it is we’d survive.”

Helena shakes her head. "One day, you will have to tell me what it was like living in the sky. But I don't want to bog us down in details just yet; it's your turn to ask. And don't give me any of those obvious things, like 'you have tattoos,'" she says, putting on an affected voice to demonstrate her disdain of the example. "That just ruins the fun for the both of us."

“I have told you what it’s like. I just don’t know all of the information you’d find pertinent, because it was just my reality. But alright, let’s see...” Clarke folds her hands around her cup and lifts an eyebrow, considering her options. She doesn’t know all that much about Helena specifically, aside from what she’s shared about her and Lexa’s childhood. And even that was after several drinks.  
  
“Given your curiosity about my romantic preferences,” Clarke decides on something topical, and as far as she can tell likely true, “I’d say you’re also interested in both men and women.”

Helena's tongue runs over the teeth at the back corner of her mouth, even as she picks up her cup. "You know, I did think we could work our way up to the sex questions," she says, and drinks. It's more than a sip this time, a gulp of her ale disappearing before she sets the mug down again. "And anyway, aren't you the one who's supposed to be getting drunk?"

“Ideally. Guess better, and I will.” Clarke does sip her beer a little, unable to totally ignore it even in the face of competition. “Besides, you asked me about my sexual preferences first. I can’t help that you brought it up.”

"Mmhm," Helena hums, eyebrow up. "But since you brought it up again, and mentioned women before men, I'm going to guess: you've not only sampled both but, above and beyond your current frustration with men, you prefer women."

Clarke purses her lips in thought even as she lifts the cup for a drink. “I think that’s probably true.” She takes a big gulp, eager to actualize the prospect of getting drunk. “At least for the moment. But let’s see...” Clarke squints at Helena, making a show of scrutinizing her. “You were raised to be the chieftain, and perhaps you do enjoy your responsibilities now - but you always wanted to be something else as a kid.”

Helena immediately opens her mouth to respond but, like Clarke, takes an extra moment to think about it. When she does, it draws a frown to her face. "I mean...I wasn't exactly raised..." she looks up to the right as she thinks a moment longer, then mumbles a "fuck it" and drinks.  
  
"So in _Floukru_ , no one is raised from birth to be chief. We aren't Nightbloods, we're not destined to rule, or any such thing," she fills in. "But there are some obvious things one needs to be skilled in if they're going to be chosen as chieftain. Chief among them - pun only partially intended - is being able to command a ship. And I was both brought up to do that, unequivocally, and to this day vastly prefer it."

“I could easily picture you on the high seas, fighting battles and rescuing damsels. Or gentlemen,” Clarke adds, and Helena nods appreciatively through her smirk. “You are wasted in politics, my friend. But for my sake I’m glad you’re here, it would be unbearably boring without you.”

"I like to think that my people are grateful as well. Being a good captain shares a lot of prerequisites with being a good chief." She smiles at Clarke then, for once without amusement or teasing; just plain honesty. "But I'm glad to have met you. Most of these politician types take themselves far too seriously.  
  
"But, it's my turn." Helena fingers the handle of her tankard, running the edge of her pointer finger over its corner. "I already know that you're an artist and a healer, so it's silly to posit what you would do if you weren't already _Wanheda_..." She fixates on Clarke's eyes again, as though studying them might unravel all of her unspoken secrets at once. When she makes her decision, Clarke can see it on her face; she sits back in her chair, folds one leg over the other, and says, "You've tasted Grounder."

Again, Clarke nearly chokes on her ale. She should just stop drinking while Helena is speaking, clearly. “I’ve _tasted_ Grounder? What does that mean?”

Her reaction draws a laugh from Helena, who tips her head back with the force of it. "Grounder. That is what you call us, isn't it? Four months in the wilderness, not another soul from _Skaikru_ around. I can't imagine you haven't slept with a 'Grounder' yet."

“Ah, I see.” Clarke laughs, but it peters out quickly at the images that question brings to mind. _Lexa_... Clarke shakes her head, attempting to rid herself of the memories in an utterly vain attempt. Thankfully, she has other memories from her time in the mountains to fall back on. “I’m assuming that means anyone who isn’t in _Skaikru_ , in which case...” Clarke takes a drink - a very long drink - and places her empty cup on the table with a _thud_. “You win again.”

That makes Helena's eyebrow go up again. "Just how badly do I win, exactly?"

“How badly meaning, how many?” Clarke shrugs, sipping her drink again to buy herself a few seconds. “At least one.”

The _Floukru_ chieftain scoffs in response, rolling her eyes. "What are you? A _Fleimkepa?_ Giving me numbers problems?"

“If you guess right, I’ll tell you. Those are the rules.” Clarke nods at a server who promptly pours another ale and slides it over the bar, close enough for Clarke to stand and grab it. “But now, it’s my turn. I’m going to go simple, and say...your favorite color is blue.”

"Why?" Helena asks, feigning indignation. "Because it's the color of my sigil and it looks great on me?"  
  
That fresh tankard is not the last one poured in service of their game. The feel of it isn't all that different from Never Have I Ever, or Two Truths and a Lie - and just as those games always devolved when she played them on the Ark, so this one devolves now. The topics are always easy at first, stretching from the mundane to the scandalous: favorite colors, favorite foods, what has and hasn't been done in bed. But as they get deeper into their cups, their mood follows them; a drunkenness that might have felt light and silly with a larger group weighs heavier on them now. Helena scoots her chair up against the wall and leans there, stretching her legs out. Clarke leans heavier on the table, letting her back rest. Their suppositions leave behind the realm of the easy, following their mood into the more serious: family, friends, responsibility and loss.

“Okay, so.” Clarke takes a deep breath and shakes her head a little. Helena had just finished, annoyingly, nailing her relationship with her father - and managed to get Clarke to admit to the circumstances of his death. On the one hand, it feels cathartic to tell someone who cares for her, and simultaneously wasn’t there and has no opinion on the matter. On the other, it feels unfair for Clarke to be delving into these painful memories on her own. “You’ve lost some of your family, I know that much. But I’ll say...you’ve lost someone else that you love. Someone you loved romantically, and that still affects the way that you conduct relationships now.”

"I really should make a rule against these two part starts," Helena grumbles into her cup, even as she takes a drink. She sighs as she sets it down again, and after a few beats of silence, looks up at Clarke's expectant expression. "What? You want me to tell the story?  
  
"There was a girl. Back when I was first chosen to be chieftain." Helena's eyelids grow heavy, hooding her eyes as they settle on her tankard. She puts her fingers on its edge, toying with it once more. "I was a captain then, and she was my first mate. Our ship was small, but fast - one of the fastest in the world, with us behind the helm. We fought our share of battles, and survived them all, even if we didn't win them. But I knew that we would need more than ships and victories to be safe, so when a chiefs' moot came up, I put my flag in the contest. I didn't think I would win, but...I did. To both of our chagrin."  
  
It isn't Helena's turn yet, and she's already admitted to the truth of Clarke's statement. But she drinks again anyway. "I tried to convince her that there was adventure to be had here, on land. But we both knew I was lying." There is a sense of finality in the click of her mug returning to the table. "She sailed off one night, without telling me. She took our ship, left a note, and that was the last I ever saw of her."

Clarke’s had enough to drink that she can’t even summon surprise. She only nods, true sympathy saturating her voice. “I’m sorry, Helena. I understand why you did what you did...I’m probably the most sympathetic politician in this city to that. I’m tempted to say you did the right thing, but part of me holds onto the idea that it could be the right idea to abandon my responsibilities. To run away and no matter what happens, never look back.” Clarke sighs. “I know I could never abandon my people that way, and neither would you, but. It’s a comforting notion, isn’t it?”

Helena shrugs her shoulders. "I try not to live in the past. Once the decision's made, there's no use in second guessing it. Not when there's little chance of turning back. Besides," she drinks again, "in retrospect, she was a terrible lay."  
  
The sourness in her tone betrays that lie for what it is.  
  
After a moment of mutual silence, Helena heaves herself back up to a sitting position. Elbows on the table, feet on the ground, she looks at Clarke and asks, "How about you? Have you ever been in love?"

Clarke opens her mouth, and then promptly closes it again. It wasn’t a statement and therefore not part of the game, but Clarke is far past caring at this point. At least, she’s far past sober, and that’s about the same.  
  
“I... I don’t know.” Clarke can feel the blood pulse beneath her skin. Increasing in pace as usual, but her anxiety is significantly dulled by a thick haze of alcohol and therefore doesn’t inform her answers quite as much as usual. “I think maybe. I thought I had been in love, before, but now...” Clarke shakes her head in a vain attempt to clear the fog of alcohol. “I don’t know. I think if I’ve ever been in love, I must be feeling it now. And it must be the worst thing I’ve ever felt.”

That draws a frown to Helena's face, first of confusion, then of concern. It's one of the first such expressions Clarke has ever seen on her face. "Now?" she asks, "Meaning - you are in love? How can--" She stops herself, perhaps realizing how foolish of a question that is before she can finish it. Of course love can be bad. In this world, especially. "What's made it so bad?"

It takes Clarke a solid minute to speak again. She sips slowly on her ale, doing her very best to consider how to respond and coming up utterly short. What is there to say? She’s exhausted, in every way possible, and whether it’s the alcohol or a desperation for venting her feelings or something else, Clarke can’t quite keep it all in. She usually does - for all she’s been prone to share her honest opinion loudly, for all to hear, she does have the ability to exhibit self restraint. But now... it’s some combination of alcohol, Helena’s presence, and Clarke’s inability to contain these exact feelings. But whatever the exact reason, now, after everything, it’s simply become too much.  
  
“Lexa.”  
  
Clarke says the name and simultaneously feels liberated and hates herself for admitting it. Helena just stares at her.

For the first time since they sat down, the sound of the bar patrons around them invades Clarke's attention. Helena's silence stretches on long enough that she becomes aware of the conversation at a table a little ways away; a man and a woman arguing about which of them owed who a drink. Then the _Floukru_ chieftain slowly, very slowly, sits back in her chair.  
  
"Lexa?" she repeats.

“Lexa.”  
  
Clarke hates the way she says her name. For all the anger she feels, she can’t help the hint of breathlessness the Commander’s name brings. Clarke hates that she’s saying her name at all, but here she is. May as well go through with it.  
  
“I love Lexa.” Even as Clarke’s chest tightens, her breath feels lighter. Somewhere in her brain she knows that that doesn’t make sense, that there is an inherent contradiction in those two feelings, and yet they persist. “I don’t know how to stop, or how to change it. As of this morning I’ve elected to stop trying and start ignoring the situation entirely.”

"Wha...I..." Helena tries several times to start a sentence, but each time fails to get more than a syllable out. She looks like she's having about as hard a time understanding this as Clarke did originally.  
  
Ultimately she sits forward again, puts her elbow on the table, and her forehead in her hand. "Shit, Clarke."

“Yeah. ‘Shit, Clarke,’ is an appropriate response.”  
  
Clarke has a nearly full cup of ale. Her third - fourth? - of the night. And downs it. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

"We don't have to _not_ talk about it," Helena says, finding her tongue again. She lifts her head from her hand and drops it down to the table. "I had never considered the possibility of someone loving her again...but I suppose if anyone could, it would be you." She eyes Clarke, concern forming a line in her brow. "But it hasn't been going well, I take it."

“It was. I never thought I’d be able to forgive her, and I don’t know that I really did...” It physically, viscerally hurts to think of Lexa. To think that she felt so vulnerable, so ready to give herself to another person not twelve hours ago. And now... “Either way. I let myself think we could be together. Whatever that might mean. But...alright, I’ll start at the beginning.”  
  
Clarke has a nearly fresh cup of ale, but drinks at least half of it at once before continuing. “I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but somewhere between meeting and being at war and somehow despite Lexa betraying my people,” Clarke takes a deep breath. She still can’t quite believe she’s able to have the feelings for Lexa that she does, but she’s at least now able to acknowledge that she does have them. “Somehow, I still care for her.” Clarke takes a deep breath. Why not voice it? It’s always been there. “I love her. But she’s decided that we can’t be...whatever, anything, as of this morning.”  
  
Alcohol muddles her coordination, but Clarke is still fully capable of finding Helena’s hand and gripping it. “I’m sorry if it seems like I convinced you to do this, to spend all day with me, because of that. That’s really not the case, I would have gladly spent all day with you no matter the circumstance. But it...I needed a friend. And I don’t have any other friends here. None that would understand, anyway.”

"No, no it's alright..." Helena's fingers close around hers in return, and she gives them a reassuring squeeze. "I believe that. But I also wouldn't blame you if that was the reason.  
  
"You talked to her about it?" She doesn't release Clarke's hand, just continues to look at her earnestly. "She doesn't feel the same way?"

Clarke’s first, self-sabotaging instinct is to snatch her hand away from Helena. She resists the urge, but can’t stop the rest of her body from tensing as this conversation goes on. Like her feet want her to be ready to bolt from this problem at any moment.  
  
“I don’t know how she feels,” Clarke says. Does Lexa feel the same way? It felt like it, but now... “I think she does, but who knows. Either she doesn’t, or has convinced herself that she doesn’t. Or worse yet, she does and is too scared to do anything about it. If I hear _love is weakness_ one more time, I think I’ll throw up. Or punch whoever says it. Maybe both.”

Helena's expression darkens immediately, her brows furrowing. "I know it well," she says lowly. "Titus was known to beat it into the Nightbloods before her conclave; I wouldn't be surprised if he's doing it again now."

“I do get the sense that he’s not my biggest fan,” Clarke takes a deep breath and releases it in a long sigh. “But Lexa makes her own decisions. No matter what Titus says to her, it’s her choice. And she didn’t choose me, so.” Clarke grabs her cup in her free hand gestures in mock salute at Helena before taking a drink. “Thus, drinking.”

"Mm, indeed." Helena returns the salute, and drinks as well. "Do you mind if I ask...how exactly this all happened? What did she say when she 'didn't choose you?'"

“How it all happened...” Clarke sighs again, daunted at the idea of recounting the entire story and wondering where exactly it begins. “It’s complicated. But the end is simple. I was hoping my feelings for her would just go away, or I could make them somehow. But I couldn’t, and finally two nights ago, I stopped trying. I’m not saying it fixes everything,” that familiar image of Lexa, bloodstained and ready for battle, turning away from her at the Mountain flashes behind Clarke’s eyes, “but I wanted to try. Obviously my feelings weren’t going away, so I had to try. And it was fine, we were fine yesterday and last night...”  
  
Clarke clears her throat, uncertain that despite their usual candor, about sex and everything else, Helena might not want to hear these particular details. “And then I woke up this morning and suddenly it wasn’t fine. Suddenly it was all ‘love is weakness’ and ‘we’re putting our people in danger.’ Apparently I’m naive for thinking our enemies will try to kill us regardless of whether or not we’re sleeping together.” Clarke’s jaw clenches around the words and she lifts a hand up to her chin to massage the tension out of it. “Anyway, that’s what she said. And I told her she should stop being an idiot, and then she kept on being an idiot. So I left.”

"Her stubbornness is legendary - even when she's being an idiot," Helena says quietly. Her eyes fall to the table, and she falls silent as she contemplates this.  
  
"I can't pretend to know what's happening," she says eventually, and gives Clarke's hand another squeeze before releasing it, pressing her palm to the table. "When Costia met Lexa, she was a different person. Idealistic, aspirational, and confident in the world's ability to change." An old sadness enters her eyes then, her mind turning to years passed, and she sighs. "After Costia died...that fire didn't go out, exactly. But it wasn't the same. _She_ wasn't the same. And I have watched her all these years, watched her recover, watched that wound mend, but the same Lexa never appeared. I wouldn't be surprised if she carries that hurt with her still. And if it's informing her decisions now."

“I’m sure she does. I know I’ll always carry the pain of losing Finn.” It seems unnecessary to note that a not small part of that is the fact that she killed him herself. A story for another time. “And maybe if she’d said as much, if that were truly why, then...maybe it would be different, I don’t know. But she was clearly determined to make this decision without me, and I can’t convince her otherwise.”

"Oh, I'm sure you could," Helena says, but the smirk on her face says that she teases. "Pretty women, and all that.  
  
"I will say, though - this feels strange," she continues. "We can't exactly express ourselves fully when we're apart - letters can be intercepted - but she kept me abreast of the fight against _Skaikru_ and then the Mountain every step of the way. And every step of the way, you were there. She respects you and your input...that she would just make this decision without you is..."

“It’s not the first time,” Clarke waves her hand dismissively, “but perhaps it’ll be the last. Either way, let’s talk about something else. I don’t know how we entered this series of depressing questions, but I’m confident that we should exit it.”

"Are you sure? If you want to talk about it--"

“I don’t want you to feel in the middle.” Clarke runs a hand through her hair and finishes yet another beer. “Besides, there isn’t much more to say about it. It is what it is.”

Helena takes a moment to examine her face, clearly not entirely convinced that she means it.  
  
"If you're sure..." she says slowly, and when Clarke doesn't object, she says instead, "In that case. I will say: your favorite color is also blue."  
  
Clarke smirks, but can tell the expression doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Right again," she says, "but I'm out of ale."  
  
Try though they might, they can't sustain their game much longer; the ratio of alcohol to food they've consumed becomes so imbalanced that they are eventually driven back to the tower in search of sustenance. Unlike Clarke, Helena doesn't have an in at the kitchens. They head back to her room instead, where she summons a servant to gather food for them. She then proceeds to slump into a chair in front of an already roaring fire, her arm draped over her eyes.

"Do you think..." she says thickly, interrupted momentarily by a quiet burp, "that it's possible to have a hangover while you're still drunk?"

Clarke laughs from the bathroom where she’s currently focused on filling two glasses with water. She chugs one and fills it again before answering. “This is a great example of why being a healer is bittersweet. We know exactly how bad alcohol is for you and we drink it anyway. But, we also know how to fix hangovers.”  
  
She walks back into the room and hands the glass to Helena, already halfway through her own second glass. “Drink this, then refill it.”

The chieftain looks at the water in the cup, then up at Clarke. "Pirate queens don't drink water," she grumbles - then proceeds to drink it.  
  
They managed to procure a number of wine bottles on their way back, all currently arrayed on the table between the chairs. When Helena empties her cup of water, she wiggles out of her chair to take a seat on the ground. Back to the fire, legs folded criss-cross under the low table, she draws a knife from her belt - did she keep that in a secret compartment? - and uses it to wedge one of the corks out. Left untouched is the much nicer bottle of whiskey that she procured _for a friend_ , as she said.  
  
"Do you think about that a lot?" she asks, grunting a little in her effort to remove the cork. "How bad everything is for you? With your fancy Sky People medicine?"

“I try not to.” Clarke attempts to sit next to her, but in reality it’s more of a fall. “It’s actually pretty easy, given the severity of life these days. You’re way more likely to die from a knife in the gut than...I don’t know, from an overripe piece of fruit.”

The cork pulls free with a _pop_ and, left blinking for a moment by the sudden release, Helena looks at Clarke. "Fruit can kill you?"

“In extreme cases, if you don’t have the right medicine...” Clarke pats Helena lightly on the shoulder and says with mock reassurance, “Don’t worry about it. That’s what healers are for.”

"I'm sure I'm also much more likely to die from a knife in the kidney..." she says, pouring wine into her cup. Not exactly what Clarke meant by 'and refill.' "To your point."

Clarke downs her water and holds out the empty cup. “Perhaps. But knives to the kidney are more likely. I’d request that you avoid that, I’d rather not have to stitch up the people I care about.”

"Can you stitch up a kidney?" The bottle glugs and splatters a few droplets of wine on Clarke's wrist. "I always thought--"  
  
She's interrupted by a knock on the door, and whatever Helena thought flies from her head immediately. Setting the bottle and her cup down on the table, the chieftain pulls herself laboriously to her feet. "Wow. Tera's gotten fast with her service," she says with a grin, making her way - mostly steadily - around the chairs and towards the door. "Who iiiiiis it?" she calls.  
  
What sounds like a sigh comes from the other side of the door. "It's Lexa."  
  
Helena freezes.  
  
With wide eyes, she pivots slowly to look at Clarke. " _Shit_ ," she hisses, " _I forgot I invited Lexa earlier!"_

“Um...” The alcohol haze has slowed Clarke’s reaction time, but Lexa’s voice puts a weight in her stomach before she can think how to respond.  
  
“It’s fine, it’s your last night.” It _is_ fine, she tells herself. There’s no reason they can’t be civil. Clarke pulls herself semi-gracefully up onto a chair and gestures with the glass in her hand, nearly sending a splash of wine onto the carpet. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Helena glances back and forth between Clarke and the door, before mouthing a " _sorry!"_ and continuing to make her way to it. When she opens it, she makes a sweeping flourish and greets Lexa with, "Commander."  
  
"Our rider caught up to Wyatt's party earlier this evening," Lexa says as she enters. The way she sweeps into the space, Clarke can all but see her red cape flowing behind her - but she doesn't wear it. Tonight, Lexa is dressed in something between her daily wear and training clothes: a black top with cut outs on the shoulders, and close-fitting black pants. "He has sent a raven, ensuring us--"  
  
The Commander halts upon seeing Clarke, both literally and metaphorically stopped in her tracks. Helena does not fail to notice this, and Clarke watches her slowly close the door over Lexa's shoulder. The click of its latch finding the jamb brings Lexa back to her senses, green eyes blinking rapidly for a moment before she finishes, "His men will stand trial by the end of the month. He apologizes for any reparations we have had to pay on his behalf."  
  
Helena snorts. "I should hope so," she says, slowly making her way over to a cabinet to retrieve a third cup. Her eyes move between Clarke and Lexa the whole time, as though she half anticipates them to fly at each other. Lexa is all but oblivious to her eyes, her own still warily on Clarke. "Isn't he the one saying he 'always pays his debts?'"

“He seems the type to mean it.” Clarke takes a large gulp of wine, her eyes fixed on Lexa and any attempt at sobriety forgotten. “Lexa.”

The Commander nods, her expression unchanging. "Clarke."  
  
Helena returns, pressing an empty cup into Lexa's hand. "Sit down," she says, and resumes her spot on the floor. "Stay a while."  
  
"He did go on to say that he would send payment," Lexa says, doing as she's told. Of course, the only seat available is the chair directly across from Clarke. "Though I suspect he will wait until the snow has thawed."  
  
"That shouldn't be too long." As soon as Lexa has taken a seat, Helena picks up the wine bottle and reaches over to fill her cup. "Think you can afford that loan for a few weeks?"

Clarke listens to them discuss the specifics of the arrangement with Wyatt with only vague interest. Lexa barely looks away from her, only to acknowledge Helena or to glance at her own cup before sipping it. Clarke meets her eyes several times, but pointedly looks away. The weight in her stomach doesn’t grow heavier, necessarily, but she’s made more and more aware of it with each second that she has to meet the Commander’s intent gaze.  
  
Instead of engaging or doing something she’d almost certainly regret, Clarke fishes a piece of paper from the pocket of her coat and the piece of charcoal she’s been using. She looks around for a surface and chooses a small, flat looking tray that the glasses they’re using were likely delivered on at some point. The back of it is perfectly smooth, so she flips the front onto her thighs, smooths the parchment over it - as good an easel as any, on this planet - and begins sketching an outline of Helena as she perches on the edge of Lexa’s chair.

"Don't you think, Clarke?"  
  
She looks up after a time to find both women watching her. Her selective hearing was so effective, she has no idea what she's been asked.

“Um.. don’t I think what?”

"That it's important to be clear in your communications with others," Helena repeats, her look turning pointed. Lexa's eyes move quickly between her and Clarke, her brow furrowing just the slightest bit. "No compromise was ever built on half finished conversations. Like Wyatt's message, I mean."

“Sure...” Clarke narrows her eyes at Helena. “I would agree with that. Assuming compromise is the goal in the first place.”

"I don't know that compromise is expressly the goal," Lexa says carefully, eyes coming to rest on Clarke's. "Wyatt is a man who knows his duty, after all."

“I’m sure. But maybe you differ in your opinions on how he should perform that duty.” Clarke shrugs and meets Lexa’s eyes. The weight gets a little heavier, but blessedly anger rises with it this time. She’s not about to have this conversation - or any conversation - with Lexa while on the defensive. “Granted I didn’t hear the beginning of this discussion, but there’s no fixed definition of ‘duty.’ Or if there is, I don’t know what it is. Perhaps you disagree on what his ‘duty’ entails, and therefore should compromise.”

Lexa opens her mouth to respond, but before she can there's a knock on the door. Helena, who until that moment had been watching this sparring match unfold, now stands up.  
  
"There's our food," she says, and answers the door. Lexa's eyes don't move from Clarke's.  
  
"You told her."

Clarke’s eyes blaze a fiery blue. “Told her what?”

The Commander doesn't flinch. "About this morning."

“The highlights, yes.” Clarke can hear Helena speaking with someone by the door, but she only vaguely registers it. “Does that bother you?”

"It does not become a person to gossip," Lexa says, and there's an edge to her voice when she does. Knowing that Lexa is upset about this brings Clarke a dark satisfaction.

“It’s not gossip when it’s about yourself. And Helena is my friend.” Clarke raises an eyebrow before looking back to her drawing. “Do you know how many people I’ll have to talk to in this city about your pigheadedness after tomorrow? Zero.”

She does not, thankfully, miss the satisfaction of Lexa's eyes bulging. "My _pigheadedness--??"_   
  
"Okaaaaaay," Helena says as she turns from the door with a tray of food in her hands, causing Lexa to drop whatever else she was about to say. "I don't know about the two of you, but I am _so_ excited. This smells amazing."

Clarke is fully ready to continue ignoring them both, but the smell of food is too appealing. She is still fairly intoxicated, after all, and if she doesn’t eat something it will be a hell of a morning.  
  
“It does smell amazing.” Clarke puts her drawing down on a small table next to her and turns around to face Helena. “What is it?”

"Sausage and smashed roots," Helena answers, coming around the back of Lexa's chair to set the tray on the table between them. For once, Lexa is not watching Clarke; her eyes have settled on a corner of the low table, one now occupied by the tray. "And a toss of sauteed vegetables, of course. Tera wouldn't want us to go without a complete meal."

“Smashed roots...” Clarke squints a little at the tray and then chuckles. “Oh, mashed potatoes! That was my favorite food as a kid.”

"Mashed potatoes?" Helena makes a face, and resumes her place on the arm of Lexa's chair. The food is arranged on a communal plate, with three forks each, and she reaches out with one to spoon up a dollop of potato from the bowl they're lumped in. "But what d'you call them if they're not potatoes?"

Clarke opens her mouth to respond, but then closes it again with a frown. “I...don’t know. Good question. I guess ‘mashed’ can be applied to anything.”  
  
She spears a sausage on one of the forks and covers it in mashed potato before eating it. “How,” she asks, barely having swallowed, “is food so much better here? Like I know how, food isn’t meant to be grown in space, but damn.”

"You apparently didn't have much opportunity to have meat up there," Helena grins, spearing a sausage of her own. After a moment, Lexa does as well. "So I imagine that helps."  
  
Lexa remains largely silent while they eat, this time leaving it to Clarke and Helena to carry the bulk of the conversation and adding only a few off hand comments spoken entirely to Helena. That dynamic shifts again after they've eaten, with Lexa catching on to a conversation about the _Floukru_ delegation's travel plans, leaving Clarke, now with a full belly, to pick up her sketch once again.

Helena seems to favor any surface that isn’t a chair - she flits from the floor, to pacing, and back to the arm of Lexa’s chair. Her consistency makes it easier for Clarke to keep her posture and neutral expression in her mind’s eye, and soon enough she has a more detailed outline.  
  
It turns out to be more of a zoom in on Helena’s upper half, since between walking around and shifting her legs as she sits, her lower half is hardly ever unmoving. Her head naturally tilts to the side when she’s listening, which is how Clarke has drawn her. Shoulders back, arms propping herself up from behind her on the back of Lexa’s chair. Then Clarke moves on to the small details of her face - her wide eyes, nose that turns up just slightly, her mouth poised in some variation of that seemingly permanent smirk.

"What are you doing over there?" The woman herself asks, just as Clarke is filling in the corner of a lip. She looks up to find the same smirk on Helena's lips as she watches her, eyebrow raised. "Taking notes?"

“I tend to make those mentally,” Clarke replies. She finishes what she was doing and smudges some shading here and there into Helena’s hair before turning the picture around to show her. “What do you think? Does it live up to your expectations?”

For all of her easy flirtation, Clarke had always assumed that Helena was incapable of blushing. In this moment, however, she is proven wrong.  
  
Helena's eyes go wide in surprise, searching across the paper at the details Clarke has recorded with her charcoal. With a soft pinkness spreading across her cheeks, she stands up, crosses the few feet between them, and takes the picture in her hands. Even Lexa looks impressed, in her much more muted way.  
  
"That is beautiful," she tells Clarke, and despite everything, there is no reservation in her voice. Just honest appreciation.

Clarke can feel a blush of her own starting at the nape of her neck. She rubs at the spot and shrugs, suddenly self conscious. “I’ve had more opportunities to practice my drawing since being here, but it’s been a long time since I drew a person. I’m glad you like it.”

"Like it??" Helena grins, wide and unrestrained. She bends down to throw her arms around Clarke's shoulders, almost bending the paper accidentally as she pulls Clarke into a tight hug. "It is beautiful. It makes _me_ look beautiful! I don't think you were serious about the whole drawing me thing..."

Clarke laughs and reaches up, gripping Helena just as tight. “You _are_ beautiful, Helena! I told you, I just draw what I see. You can keep it, if you like.” She takes the parchment from Helena for a moment, just long enough to scrawl her initials in the corner before giving it back. “There, a Clarke Griffin original. Maybe by the time you get back in the spring, my skills will have improved and I’ll try again.”

"I'll be sure to bring something worthy to wear," she says, and presses a kiss to Clarke's cheek before standing up. The rouge she wears on her lips leaves a print on her face, she can just feel it. "In the meantime - I'm putting this somewhere safe."  
  
She steps around Clarke's chair and quickly goes about finding a place of pride in her trunk, leaving Lexa and Clarke sitting alone again. The Commander says nothing, apparently uninterested in rekindling the argument from earlier. But she doesn't look away from Clarke.

Clarke considers a variety of biting remarks, but they all fall a little flat in her head. Whether from the constant alcohol consumption, how early she’d woken up, or the emotional stress - or some combination of all three, most likely - she suddenly just feels exhausted. The idea of engaging in this conversation again just seems like too much work, which in itself is the best indication Clarke’s had all night that it’s time for her to head out.  
  
Lexa’s eyes dart from one of Clarke’s to the other, as if waiting for whatever will come next. But Clark just sighs and flips her legs back to the front of the chair, stretching her neck as she stands. “I think I’m going to head to my room.” Helena looks up from her trunk, her mouth turned down in concern. “It’s been a very long day, and you’ve more than fulfilled your promise of getting me good and drunk.” Clarke punctuates that explanation by finishing off her second - third? Fourth? She has no idea anymore - cup of wine and setting the empty glass down on the table. “Besides, I’ve had you to myself all day. Lexa should have some time alone with you before you go.”

The Commander inclines her head. "That is generous of you."  
  
"Are you sure, Clarke?" Having found a place for the sketch, Helena returns to her side. "We have more wine--"

“It is generous of me, isn’t it?” Clarke gives Helena a weary smile. “Besides, if I have anymore wine I won’t make it to training tomorrow at all, and I think Ronnie will stage an intervention of some kind.” She pulls Helena in for another hug, tighter than she intends but she doesn’t loosen her grip. “I’ll see you tomorrow before you go. Thank you, for today. It was exactly what I needed.”

"Of course, Clarke." When Helena pulls away, she takes Clarke by either shoulder. "What's mine is yours - whether that's my wine, or my time."

Clarke grins. “A pirate queen and a poet - you never cease to amaze.” She nods in Lexa’s direction, not even bothering to meet her eyes, “Until tomorrow, then,” and she walks out of the room without looking back, closing the door softly behind her.

She only makes it a few steps down the hall when she hears the door open again. Her mind immediately goes to the contents of her pockets, and she pats them down as she turns around in the event that she left something behind. Standing before her, though, is not Helena with a missing piece of charcoal; it's Lexa, pulling the door closed behind her and looking at Clarke expectantly.  
  
"Clarke."

“Lexa...” Clarke’s arms fold over her chest of their own volition. “Can I help you?”

"I should hope so," the Commander answers. She crosses the distance between them and, standing just at the edge of Clarke's space, she says in a lower voice, "I understand that you are upset, but it is not wise to talk about this with other people. And I would prefer it if you didn't."

“Yes, I’m sure that would interfere with this master plan you’ve crafted.” Clarke sighs. The truth is she probably wouldn’t have told Helena, if she hadn’t been drinking and Lexa hadn’t woken up this morning and casually decided to ruin everything. But she’s not about to tell Lexa that. “It’s just Helena. I’d think if you’d be fine with anyone knowing, it would be her. I half expected her to already know some of the context, from _you_.”

"That it is her isn't the point," Lexa says, and for once her frustration is clear on her face. "The walls in this city have ears, and information is currency. She would never betray me, or you for that matter, but there is no telling who else could have overheard."

“She’s leaving tomorrow and like I said earlier, that will leave exactly no one in this city for me to talk to about this. Conveniently for you.” Clarke closes her eyes for a moment, trying to collect her feelings. The alcohol is making it more difficult than usual, and the anger she’d been suppressing all evening for Helena’s sake is dangerously close to surfacing. “I understand the risks of us...” she waves a hand dismissively, “doing whatever it is we were doing. I understood them before I made that choice, and I still understand them now. Two nights in your bed isn’t quite enough to rid me of my judgement, believe it or not.”

Lexa's jaw tightens, and Clarke can all but see her reining in her temper. "You do not have to be happy with me, Clarke," she says lowly, "but we do have to at least be civil with one another."

“In public.” Clarke doesn’t realize she’s taken a couple steps toward Lexa until she’s already right up in her space. “I’ve been civil. I can’t recall anything I said in that room that wasn’t civil. But we’re alone now - except for the ears in the walls, apparently - and I can say what I like. In fact, I can say what I like at any time, but again, I am capable of making my own judgements. And you don’t have to be happy with _them,_ Lexa,” she echoes back.

Lexa's jaw continues to work. "I am trying to keep us safe."

Clarke loses all control of volume at that. “You’re trying to be the Commander when she has no place in this, in _us!_ Don’t you think I want to keep _you_ safe?” A conversation with Indra, from what feels like years ago now, echoes in her head. _I’d rather die than put her in danger..._ Clarke’s eyes close again, this time for several seconds, and she takes a step back. “I’d do anything to keep you safe, Lexa,” she finally says, forcing her voice into a softer register. “But we’re stronger together, that seems so obvious to me. Isn’t it obvious to you?”

Lexa clearly hadn't expected that outburst. She looks at Clarke, lips slightly parted and wide eyes moving between both of Clarke's. A beat of silence stretches into two, and then Helena's door opens for a second time. The sound draws both Clarke's and Lexa's attention, and they turn to see Helena leaning against the door frame, saying nothing and watching warily.  
  
The Commander turns to look back at Clarke, and their eyes meet for only a second before she drops hers. " _Reshop, Wanheda_ ," she says, and doesn't wait for an answer. Before Clarke can even open her mouth, she's striding back down the hallway.

Clarke exhales slowly and shakes her head. "Goodnight, Lexa." She gives Helena a nod, totally unable to muster even a semblance of a smile, and turns back down the hallway.  
  
The closer Clarke gets to her room, the more exhausted she feels. She feels empty inside, in a way she hasn't since... the image of Finn, tied to a stake, his voice in her ear as she pushed a knife into his heart. It was so easy to do, easier than she ever imagined it would be. She barely had to put any pressure on the blade and in it went, cutting him off from her forever.  
  
This feels like that. Just as hopeless, but now with something new: anger, white hot and persistent. The alcohol and the exhaustion in her limbs dulls it for now, forces her into her favorite chair immediately after discarding her jacket. But when she wakes up in the morning, the sun just barely peeking in through the windows, the anger is still there.


	4. Leksa kom Trikru

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: sexually explicit content (oral sex, fingering)

Clarke downs several more cups of water and is surprised to find that she's functional at all, much less feeling capable of meeting Ronnie. She meets him just in time, a smile already on his face as usual at the sight of her. He doesn't give her too hard a time today, and she does a much better job of putting on a good face. But she does steer him as clear of Lexa and her morning routine as possible, and as soon as they're done she jogs back to the tower, as eager to get cleaned up and meet Helena before she leaves as she is to be out of Lexa's presence.  
  
By the time she does manage to clean herself up and throw on new clothes - black pants, her usual jacket, and her tan henley today - Clarke is suddenly afraid that she may already be late and runs out of her room and down the hallway. She takes the stairs two at a time and rounds a corner to get the lift, and nearly smacks into Helena.  
  
"Hey!" Clarke says, breathless. She grabs the other woman's shoulders to steady herself. "I was worried I was late, but I'm obviously right on time."

The other woman laughs, one hand on Clarke's side to assist in the steadying. "You are indeed," Helena says. "Though I'm flattered that you would fling yourself face first into obstacles to get here on time, not everyone has that sort of dedication."

“Not just any obstacle,” Clarke winks. “How was your morning?”

"It was...rough," Helena admits with a sheepish chuckle. She takes Clarke by the hand and pulls her the rest of the way to the lift. "Hungover packing is never fun, and Lexa and I were up far too late last night. But you seem chipper as ever. Did Ronnie not kick your butt today?"

“He kicked my butt and then some. About twelve glasses of water before bed will work miracles.” Clarke pulls the gloves from her pockets, instantly cold at the first hint of wind from below the lift. “Did you and Lexa have a good time? I’m sorry if I - or we, I guess - ruined the evening. Though I have a feeling if there were anyone capable of turning an evening around, it would be you.”

Helena rolls her eyes at that. She wears pants today, with a shorter leather jacket beneath a heavy traveling cloak. She too pulls her gloves on, a soft brown leather that matches her coat. "I didn't exactly make it better, but I didn't really intend to. I love Lexa like a sister, but..." she sighs heavily, so very put upon. "That girl can be so _dramatic_."

Clarke laughs at that - an honest, full belly laugh - and after everything yesterday, it feels amazing. “I could not agree more. At least you’ll be getting a break from it for a while. I’m glad I at least have Ronnie consistently handing my ass to me to keep me sane, now that you’re leaving.”

"Oh my poor, sweet girl," Helena chuckles, patting Clarke on the back of her head. "Lexa knows how to contact me, if ever you are in need of me. I'm only a raven's flight away."  
  
When the lift lurches to a stop, it opens on a foyer crowded with bodies. Members of the _Floukru_ delegation mingle with _Trikru_ and other inhabitants of the tower, joyous goodbyes echoing all around. At the far side, Lexa stands in her coat and pauldron, helm of awe glinting in the sun. Beside her, Titus in his purple robes watches impassively; beyond them, horses whinny and shuffle as stable hands and warriors prepare them for the journey ahead.  
  
They don't head straight for Lexa, as Helena pulls Clarke off to one side to introduce her to her ambassador, an older woman named Jada. She is not as immediately, irresistibly charismatic as Helena - Clarke doubts there are many who are - but it quickly becomes clear that they share many of the same opinions. Naturally only someone as cool as Helena could serve as Helena's ambassador.  
  
Drums summon the attention of all gathered, and it is clear that the time to leave is upon them. Helena makes her way, with Clarke in tow, to the main entrance.  
  
"Lexa," she says, and doesn't pause in her step on her way to hug the Commander. Though the idea of literally anyone hugging Lexa in public is the strangest thing Clarke has seen in some time, no one else treats it with much surprise. Even Lexa, after a beat, hugs her in return.  
  
"I will miss you, old friend," Clarke hears Lexa say. Helena laughs.  
  
"You say that as though I won't be back in a few months," she says. With a hand still on Lexa's shoulder, she pats her cheek with the other one. "Stay safe in the meantime, okay?"

“You both sound so serious,” Clarke says, just loud enough for Helena and Lexa, and possibly Titus, to hear. “She’ll be here when you get back, all in one piece. We’ll make sure of it.” She levels a serious look at Lexa, and then turns her gaze to Helena and grins. “ _You_ be safe, in the meantime. What were you telling me yesterday, about the fragility of frozen rivers? That’s the stuff of nightmares, be sure to avoid those.”

"Not to worry - I have the best Pathfinders in _Floukru_ with me, and we know water better than anyone," Helena winks. It is Clarke's turn for a hug. "I am very glad to have met you, Clarke Griffin."

“Likewise.” Clarke hugs her back, unsurprised to feel yet another sense of loss. Her friends, her family, now Helena... pretty soon it’ll just be her here. Her and Lexa. She shakes off the thought. “I’m honored to call you a friend, Helena. It’ll be dull here without you. Take care of yourself.”

"You too." Just as she did with Lexa, Helena does not pull away when she releases Clarke from the hug. Instead, she takes Clarke's head between her hands, and leans in to touch her forehead to hers. With her eyes on Clarke and mouth hidden behind her hands, she says quietly enough that only Clarke can hear, "Stay alive."

“We both will,” Clarke whispers back, “I promise.” She pulls back and gives her a smile, more genuine than before. “Have a safe journey, _Helena kom Floukru_. See you soon."

Helena gives Clarke's arm a final squeeze, and walks out into the sunlight.  
  
From there, it's all pomp and circumstance. Lexa says the same words she said when the other chiefs left. Indra stands at Clarke's side, and when their eyes meet for a moment, she offers her a nod. Then Helena grips Lexa's arm, says her words in response, and climbs into her saddle. Situating her cloak over the back of the horse, she meets Lexa's and Clarke's eyes in turn as she lifts her hand in one last farewell. Then a blast of horns cries out over the rhythm of drums and the _Floukru_ delegation turns as one; in moments, they're gone.

And then, Clarke is alone. Again. But at least now she can focus on what she stayed here for - to gain allies and influence for her people. And that's what she plans to do.

Over the next week, Clarke develops a pattern. She wakes up, trains with Ronnie, prepares for the day, and then makes her way to Carlisle's clinic. There's always something for her to do, some place her skillset is needed, and being useful gives her a sense of purpose that feels more personal than being the ambassador of her people. But she does always leave, eventually, and spends the rest of the day meeting with ambassadors from other clans. Occasionally one such meeting will move into dinner, but usually she ends her day late in the evening with Tera, helping her clean up the kitchen and earning leftovers as a reward. Then it's back up to bed to repeat the schedule the following day.  
  
All in all, it's not such a bad way to spend her time. After a few days it becomes clear who her most natural allies are: the ambassadors from _Trikru_ and _Floukru_ , unsurprisingly, as well as those from the Broadleaf and Shallow Valley clans - and even Tumnas' ambassador from The Glowing Forest. Though the latter is a little difficult to pin down, seeming to favor anything Clarke says that would benefit him and giving very little in return. But he's easy to manipulate, and a good drinking buddy. The others prove to be amenable to Clarke's suggestions about working together, and even offer a few of their own. Of course nothing will be solidified until the chieftains return in the spring, but the progress that she makes gives her hope that _Skaikru's_ position will be better off for her efforts. As for the other ambassadors, Clarke has at least established relationships with them. What exactly those relationships will be is yet to be determined, but she's making progress.  
  
Clarke does her best to avoid Lexa when she can. There are several meetings where being in her presence is simply unavoidable, and in those cases Clarke does her best to keep a polite, if not somewhat icy distance between them. Otherwise the Commander is fairly easy to avoid. At least for the first seven or eight days.  
  
One night after a particularly annoying meeting with the ambassador from _Azgeda_ \- why Nia even has an ambassador is unclear, given how completely uncooperative she is - there's a knock on Clarke's door. It's Elena, who bears an interesting message. Apparently Lexa has requested Clarke's presence. Elena has no light to shed on exactly why the Commander wants to see Clarke, of course. Clarke does her best to decline politely, stating in no uncertain terms that if Lexa would like to talk to her she can come herself. Certainly the Commander has had enough experience with Clarke to know that she isn't about to be summoned. Clarke shakes it off and tries to focus on her book.  
  
Her Trigedasleng version of _Pride and Prejudice_ is still in Lexa's room, she assumes - she hasn't been there since that morning - but she's able to entertain herself with other books. Some picked up from the library, others that she enjoys returning to again and again. They're a welcome relief after long days, but the real benefit of having books at her disposal is distraction. Clarke's nightmares return in full force, which would be bad enough without having to actively force herself not to think about Lexa every few waking minutes. The combination makes for a few hours of stolen sleep at a time, and if she starts in her chair she almost always finds herself on the floor when she wakes up. Losing herself in a book quickly becomes the most effective, and most utilized, way to distract herself. Which makes it all the more annoying when, two nights later, Elena comes to her door and delivers the exact same message.  
  
Clarke almost finds herself yelling at the woman, stopping just short of swearing, and quickly apologizes for her rudeness - but assures Elena that she will not be going to Lexa's chambers of her own free will anytime soon. Apparently she wasn't instructed to use force, as Elena simply nods and leaves the same way she did the first time.  
  
After that, Lexa seems to pop up during Clarke's day more often than usual. The Commander will follow her out of meetings, appearing to want to say something and then simply remaining silent when Clarke asks her what she wants. Or Lexa will just so happen to be walking the opposite way down a hallway in the tower, or on a street that Clarke takes every day from the clinic. A few times she asks Clarke to stop and speak with her, but Clarke always makes an excuse and Lexa never presses the issue.  
  
The reality is that it's all Clarke can do to focus on her day-to-day tasks. Being around Lexa so often is bad enough without her actively seeking Clarke out, and the more the Commander attempts to talk to her the harder it gets for Clarke to curb her feelings. Her comments become more biting in meetings, the anger that seems ever-present these days rising more quickly to the surface. She redoubles her efforts to avoid Lexa, and in turn the Commander seems to show up even more frequently.  
  
After two weeks, Clarke takes an afternoon to herself. Instead of attending meetings or otherwise going about her usual ambassador duties, Clarke spends a few extra hours at the clinic and then immediately heads back to her room. She lights a few candles - every day it seems the sun sets earlier, and the days grow colder - and after a few hours, in a rare moment of indulgence, asks Elena to bring dinner up for her. Which means by the time true evening rolls around and there's a knock on her door, Clarke is several hours into reading _The Lord of the Rings_ and is in no mood for yet another plea from Elena on Lexa's behalf.  
  
"Yes Elena, come in," Clarke says from her chair, not even bothering to look up. "Though I think you know what my answer will be.”

There's no response from the door. At first Clarke wonders if she had spoken loudly enough to be heard on the other side; with no sound of opening and no further knock, surely that is the only possibility. But just as she's about to speak up again, the knob turns.  
  
"She has said that your answer is always the same: if I want to talk to you, I can come myself."  
  
Clarke's stomach drops.  
  
She turns around to find not Elena, but Lexa standing in her doorway. The Commander wears her usual badges of office: her coat, her pauldron, her cape and helm of awe. As the door swings shut behind her she clasps her hands in front of her, one hand closing over the other wrist. "So I came."

Clarke does nearly drop her book, but grabs it with both hands just before it falls. She gently puts it down on the table next to her before she can do any damage to it.  
  
"Lexa."  
  
She'd been so comfortable reading that Clarke had forgotten to change from work and is still wearing one of the soft, thin uniforms Carlisle had loaned her. The shirt and pants are mismatched due to a delay in laundry - her pants are dark grey while her shirt is long-sleeved and navy blue. They're more like pajamas than the functional clothes Clarke typically favors, and are a stark contrast to the official garb Lexa wears.  
  
"I have to admit, I didn't think you would actually come yourself." Despite the obvious difference in their appearance, Clarke's eyes narrow and her gaze is penetrating, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. 

"I know. You made that abundantly clear." Lexa is able to maintain her usual stoicism for only a moment longer. Her eyes drop to the ground, and for a beat, she's silent. 

“Well?” Clarke demands, impatient. "What do you want?"

Closing her eyes as though bracing for an inevitable onslaught, Lexa says: "I have come to ask your forgiveness."

Clarke just blinks, surprise rendering her silent for several seconds.  
  
"You...what?"

Less takes a slow, careful breath in, and she opens her eyes. Meeting Clarke's gaze, she says again, "I have come to ask for your forgiveness. I have been prideful, and I have been wrong. And I hope that you can forgive me."

“I...” Clarke frowns. This is so outside the realm of what she imagined might happen, it's hard to translate her thoughts into words. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

"I mean..." Lexa's grip on her wrist tightens, but neither her gaze nor her voice falters. As she speaks, Clarke notices that she does not wear her braids in her hair; it cascades freely over the shoulder opposite her pauldron in dark waves. "That you were right.  
  
"I was wrong to think that I was doing the honorable thing. That I wasn't just hiding behind my office, or my duty. I was wrong to think that I could make this decision on my own, without you. That was treating you as less than you are, and as less than you deserve." Her eyes fall now, closing once more - but this time, in contrition. "And I was wrong to think that I could be stronger without you. You were right to tell me all of these things. And I resented you for it."

A part of Clarke - one that she has done her very best to shut down entirely during the past couple of weeks - wanted so badly to hear this that she almost can’t believe it’s happening. Something she wants, _happening_. That actually is too good to believe.  
  
And another part of her, the stronger at the moment, doesn’t believe that it’s happening. Or can’t. The effect is the same.  
  
“You more than resented me for it.” Clarke’s arms tense more and more with every second, until the muscles feel as though they might snap. “You called me naive and told me I was putting everyone I love in danger...” she swallows the unsaid words that echo in her head: _a_ _nd maybe you were right._ So far she’s done a decent job of forcing Lexa’s voice from her head, but still sometimes it seeps in. Despite everything she said, and would gladly say again, the effect of Lexa’s stoic denial at the validity of any of Clarke’s feelings has pressed itself into her consciousness more than once. “I make you weak. That’s what you said. Are you saying you’ve suddenly changed your mind? Again?”

Lexa is quiet, and Clarke knows that she's waiting for the right words to order themselves in her mind.  
  
"The morning that I..." she is tempted to rephrase. The way her face twists around the words betrays that she has to force them out. "Sent you away, I had a dream. I was sixteen again, sitting at the foot of that very bed, when word came that _Azgedan_ messengers had returned. I had sent them my terms, and was eager to hear that they had agreed to return Costia to me and accept my ceasefire. So I had them brought in. They did not bring with them an acceptance of my terms, but instead..." Her hands release each other and she stretches them out, as though holding something invisible before her. "A box.  
  
"I knew what would be in there before I opened it. The commanders who came before me often send me this dream, as a reminder and a warning. Except," and now she looks up at Clarke, "it was not Costia's head inside. It was yours. And your eyes blamed me. Every ounce of hatred and repulsion a human body can muster was in that look."  
  
Lexa folds her hands in front of her again. "When I was younger, Titus would constantly rehearse the deaths of those commanders who had taken partners. The message was always the same: love killed them all. It made them vulnerable to their enemies, and their enemies did not fail to take advantage of it. But I have never been afraid for my own life. I know what it is to be _Heda;_ I know what my duty will one day ask of me. Avoiding that price has never concerned me. But the lives of others...  
  
"Everything that I have done, all that I have dedicated my life to, has been to protect my people. It was easy, then, to tell myself that it was concern for them that I was prioritizing. I had to turn you away because I had to ensure the future of my Coalition. But that was an excuse. I am not changing my mind, Clarke," she says, and there is earnestness in her eyes. "I am recognizing the truth."

Clarke’s posture relaxes slightly as Lexa speaks, but not much. Her heart aches at the thought of a young Lexa going through that pain...pain that she can only relate to in its immediacy. In the sharp, quick fire of it, and in the sadness that dulls and cools slowly in time. But Lexa deals with the perpetrators of that violence constantly - treats them as allies and equals, in fact. Clarke almost wishes this new understanding would make the anger she feels dissipate but it’s still there, burning away at her insides. And it _hurts_.  
  
Clarke can feel her heart rate increasing again, and this time it reminds her of a lead up to the kind of panic attacks she’s only recently stopped having. She forces her breath into an even, measured pace before responding.  
  
“And what truth is that?”

"That I'm afraid of losing you."  
  
The room goes still in the aftermath of that admission, but Lexa isn't done. A moment later, she continues: "I have thought about it. Seen it in my dreams. Those months that you were lost in the wilderness, I anticipated getting the news that you had died at any moment. When you were found safe, I could not entertain the thought of losing you again when you were so close, and so I kept you at arm's length. If I kept my distance, it would not hurt as much when you inevitably walked away." Lexa closes her eyes again, and the knuckles closed around her wrist go white. "When you came to me that night, I could not believe that you had chosen me. That something that I wanted, I _wanted,_ had come to pass was...inconceivable. And the dreams started again.  
  
"I pushed you away, but they haven't stopped. The fear hasn't gone away. Every day, I find myself wondering if you're safe, if one of my enemies has found you at last. And the fact that I am apart from you has only served to make that fear worse."

“Loss can happen in any number of ways,” Clarke says, slowly. Collecting her own thoughts as she does. “Not just through violence. You’ve lost me - we’ve lost each other - already, after what you did.”  
  
More adrenaline. Why is Lexa’s mere presence enough to make Clarke’s heart feel like it might burst out of her chest? And now, on top of being in her room, Lexa is saying...this.  
  
Clarke shifts her feet, unwilling to sit or lean against something during this conversation but suddenly, oddly nervous about her ability to stay calm and upright. Blood races through her veins and she can hear her heartbeat pound in her ears as if someone were measuring it out on a drum.  
  
“You’re upset about what seems to me to be pretty predictable consequences of your actions.” Clarke can’t tell if her voice wavers through the myriad distractions her body is providing. She takes deep breaths, but when she speaks again there’s a clear bite to her voice, even to her own ears. “We all have nightmares, and feelings don’t just disappear when you command them to. Obviously. I wouldn’t think you’d need me to tell you that, and if you’re here to commiserate,” her lips snarl over the word, “over the fall out of what you did, you can leave the way you came in.”

"I'm not," Lexa says, and shakes her head. There is no apparent rise to anger in her, no struggle to contain her temper; she came here expecting a beating, and appears to have resigned herself to it. "I'm here to apologize.  
  
"I thought that I _could_ command those feelings away. I thought that I could command you to be safe. I thought..." she presses her lips together, her first and only sign of frustration, and it's directed at herself. She has not been here in a long time, if ever before, and it shows. "The night Helena left, you told me that I was letting _Heda_ rule where she did not belong. When you left, Helena told me the same. I scorned her for it. I could not be anyone or anything other than - there was no Lexa left to be."  
  
Lexa grits her teeth and looks away. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, straightens her back. She steels herself for what she is about to do, and Clarke braces herself. "But that, too, was a lie."  
  
The hand around her wrist releases, and Lexa lifts it up. With eyes on Clarke, _determinedly_ on Clarke, her fingers find the buckle that straps her pauldron on across her chest. They fumble, and it's then that Clarke realizes that Lexa is trembling.  
  
The buckle gives way, and Lexa crosses to the empty chair. Removing the pauldron, and its attached cape, she drapes both across the chair's arms. Next is the coat, which she strips off and lays across the chair the same way. Lastly, Lexa reaches up and, with careful fingers, removes the helm of awe from her forehead. The thin golden gear glints in the firelight as she lays it reverently on top of her coat.  
  
"So I do not come to you as _Heda,_ " she says, and though her voice does not waver, it is not as strong as before. Now, in front of the fireplace, dressed in only a thin long sleeved shirt and matching black pants, Lexa looks at Clarke...and sinks to one knee. There is something raw in her expression, flashing in her green eyes, and after a moment Clarke can identify it: without her armor, Lexa is vulnerable. And she is _terrified_. "I do not come to you as the Commander." She shifts her weight, lowering her other knee until she is kneeling on both. The hands at her sides curl into fists, the better to hide her shaking. "I come as myself. As _Leksa kom Trikru,_ " she lowers her head, closes her eyes. "I come to beg your forgiveness."

Clarke’s ability to move, let alone speak, leaves her entirely. In fact, somewhere in the back of her mind she’s dimly aware of holding her breath. In all her wildest fantasies, she would never have predicted this.  
  
And yet it’s not a dream, or a mirage, or anything else. Seconds tick by and it doesn’t disappear. Lexa doesn’t disappear.  
  
“Lexa...”  
  
So she can speak - though it’s more of a breath than a word. If she thought her heart rate was fast before, it’s sprinting now. If this were any other situation Clarke might have the wherewithal to be surprised that she isn’t having a panic attack. As it is, it takes all of her energy just to force real, concrete thoughts through the deluge.  
  
She clears her throat and attempts to start again. “Lexa, I...don’t know if I can. If this happened again, I...” _I don’t know that I’d survive it,_ is the true end of that sentence, but she bites her tongue. Literally - she can taste a trace tang of blood that proves it.

Lexa looks up at the sound of her name, equal parts fear and sincerity in her eyes. She's shaking her head even before Clarke's voice can drift off, green eyes never leaving hers. "It won't," she says quickly, but it is not a promise that is lightly made. Nothing Lexa does is done lightly. "I swear to you, Clarke, it won't.  
  
"I know I cannot make the decision for you. I have learned the folly of that already," she says, and her eyes fall for a moment as she allows herself a small, wry smile. "I should have learned that long ago, if I had any sense at all." She looks back up. "If this is something you truly cannot do, then tell me now and you will never hear me mention it again. But if that is not true...you will have nothing to fear from me. I will not leave your side, I swear it."

The significance of Lexa - of the Commander of the Twelve Clans - swearing to never leave her side is not lost on Clarke.  
  
"I believe you," Clarke whispers. It would be insane not to believe her.  
  
Lexa searches her expression - terrified, hopeful, looking for all the world like she'll kneel there forever if that's how long it takes Clarke to decide. As if Clarke hadn't already decided weeks ago.  
  
Clarke's head is pounding and yet, incongruously, feels light. Her breath comes in short, shallow bursts and the combination finally breaks her - Clarke bends to one knee, supporting herself with one hand on her thigh. With her knee on the floor, grounding her, she's more able to focus. On Lexa's green eyes, now just several inches from her, and the tears she hadn't realized were falling down her cheeks until a drop falls on her hand.  
  
"When I came to your room that first time," Clarke's voice is strong, stronger than she expects, "it wasn't on a whim. I tried to avoid my feelings for you for months. For _months_. But I couldn't anymore, and once I made that choice, I knew I would never be able to take it back. I did it anyway, and I don't regret it. But if this happens again..." Lexa opens her mouth, presumably to protest, but Clarke waves a hand to silence her. She only plans to make this admission once, and she wants no interruptions. "I know you say it won't, but if I lose you again, Lexa..." Clarke closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then another. "It might kill me."  
  
Speaking had slowed her heart rate marginally, and she focuses on slowing it further - before straightening and allowing her other knee to fall to the floor. "I already made this choice." She opens her eyes and meets Lexa's. "I chose you, and if you made me I would keep choosing you. But please, don't make me do this again."

"I won't," Lexa says softly, her eyes moving between both of Clarke's. “That I have made you choose so many times already is among my greatest regrets.”

Slowly, giving Clarke ample time to stop her or pull away, she reaches a hand out to touch her cheek. Cupping her jaw, Lexa uses the side of her thumb to brush away a tear.  
  
"I cannot promise to control fate." The statement is less matter of fact than it sounds, carrying the weight of the leader of the known world's voice. "The forces arrayed against us are powerful, and ruthless. They will try to destroy us, and I..." Lexa's eyes drop as her voice falters, and she shakes her head. But when she looks up at Clarke again, there is a redoubled determination there. "I don't know that I can stop them. But with you at my side, I will move the earth itself before I let them divide us."

Clarke's heart feels like it's practically in her throat, but she manages a chuckle anyway. "See, was that so hard? Just promise to move the earth for me, that's all I wanted."

The tension breaks in that moment, and Lexa dips her head as she laughs. "Foolish of me, to not just start there," she says. A small smile remains on her lips as she sobers, and she takes one of Clarke's hands in each of hers.  
  
"I am so sorry, Clarke," she says quietly, meeting her eyes again. "You do not have to forgive this, forgive _me;_ you have every right to be angry. But I mean what I say, and I will prove it to you. Whatever it is that I need to do, I will do it."

"Jokes aside, that could not be clearer." Clarke sighs. Her pride very much wants her to _stand back up_ , damn it. She isn't the one who needs to be apologizing or making a demonstration of her affection - hasn't she done that enough? But that voice is easy enough to ignore, especially with the elation and relief that wash over her in a flood. "It will take some time, for me to fully trust you. To trust that you mean... all of this. But I do believe you, and I don't want this - you - any less than I did two weeks ago. Maybe that's crazy, but denying our feelings hasn't gotten us anywhere and that is how I feel. We'll no doubt be presented with ample opportunities to prove we mean what we say." Clarke releases one of Lexa's hands to cup her jaw, running a thumb along her cheekbone in a mirror of the way Lexa had just touched her. "This is enough for now."

"I can only apologize that it took so long," she answers, a small, crooked, self-deprecating smile hanging from her lips as her hand closes around Clarke's wrist. "If there's anything that I ask of you that is too much, or too soon--"

"I'll tell you," Clarke finishes for her, and nods. "I have been known to speak my mind, so I think you can at least count on that."

"I have no doubt that I can. And to that end..." Lexa's eyes move between hers again, that smile still there. She sounds a little breathless. "I very badly would like to kiss you right now. If that's alright."

Clarke looks down at Lexa's lips and swallows, suddenly a little nervous. Nervous, but not hesitant. "It's more than alright," she whispers.

Lexa nods. Perhaps sensing her trepidation, she leans in slowly; their noses brush, and then Lexa touches her forehead to Clarke's. She can feel Lexa's breath, faint and faster than usual on her lips, even as she closes her eyes...and then her grip on Clarke's wrist tightens, and she presses her lips to Clarke's.

Clarke sighs into her mouth, whatever tension was left in her leaving in an instant. Her grip on Lexa's jaw and neck tighten, her other hand grabs at Lexa's shirt and the hem of her pants to bring her even closer.  
  
The problem becomes clear quickly - in their current position, not only is Clarke unable to really move but she's also easily put off balance. Which is exactly what happens seconds later. Lexa uses her free hand to attempt to pull Clarke forward by her hip, which would've been an easy thing to accomplish if she weren't kneeling. Instead Clarke shifts her weight a little too quickly and makes a surprised "mmmph!" sound as she falls. She ends up half on her side, keeping herself up with one arm on a conveniently placed pillow next to her, and can't help but laugh at the gracelessness of it.

"Clarke!"  
  
The same hand that pulled her scrambles to catch hold of Clarke before she can fall, but only succeeds in tipping Lexa off balance as well. She catches herself with a hand, propping herself up over Clarke by locking her arm beneath her, but the worry in Lexa's eye quickly evaporates. Clarke's laugh is infectious and Lexa is soon laughing as well, her eyes bright. "I'm so sorry - are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" Clarke gives up and releases her arm, falling back onto the comfortable pile of blankets and pillows that usually serve as her bed, Lexa now conveniently holding herself up above her. "In fact," she grabs the collar of Lexa's shirt with both hands and pulls her lips back to her own, "I think I like this even better."

Lexa makes a sort of squeak of surprise as she's drawn down, but it happens so quickly that the sound is almost entirely muted by Clarke's lips. The other woman surges forward, and though Lexa still holds her weight up Clarke can feel herself pressed back into the pillows by the force of it. It doesn't feel hungry, exactly; Lexa's kiss is fierce, but it's desperate - as though every ounce of the anxiety she has felt over the last two weeks is working itself out through that embrace. Her hips slot against Clarke's, their bodies comfortably aligning on the worn rug in front of the hearth.  
  
"Thank the stars for that," she breathes in response.

For Clarke's part, she is more than happy to meet Lexa's fierceness with her own. She'd tried so hard not to think about it, but the last weeks have been impossible. Between the nightmares and lying awake for hours, her thoughts persistently drifting to Lexa, Clarke has been at the end of her rope. Even being near the other woman was painful and now that she has Lexa here, as close to her as she could possibly be - now that Lexa's weight is on top of her, her lips pressed against hers, not just in her fantasies but in reality - Clarke can't stop herself. Her hands roam every inch of Lexa's skin that she can reach. Gripping tight to her clothes, pulling her ever closer. Their lips hardly ever break apart except when one of them is so desperately in need of air that they take a moment to gasp in a breath before reconnecting.  
  
In one such moment, Clarke takes the opportunity to swiftly pull the Commander's shirt over her head before she has a chance to kiss her again. She emits a satisfied purr as her hands hungrily move over Lexa's collarbone, her chest, down her stomach and around her back to her shoulders.

Lexa doesn't quite resituate after that. Her hands find purchase in the nest of blankets and pillows behind Clarke, and she catches Clarke's lip between her teeth for just a moment. Then pushes herself back upwards, and though her weight is still on her hips, balanced between Clarke's hips and her own knees, a space opens between their torsos that allows each to watch the other as she pants for air. The heat of the fire, blazing just to her right, bathes Clarke's skin in a warmth that is just on this side of too-hot. The black ink of Lexa's tattoos seems to flicker and grow, melting at one time into the shadow of her breast or arm, and the next thrown into stark, bright relief. The woman herself swallows hard, her eyes searching over Clarke, clothed though she might be, as though she is a cold drink of water amidst a searing desert.  
  
She doesn't say anything. In a lot of ways, she doesn't have to; she shifts her weight onto one hand, and cups Clarke's cheek with the other. For one who is usually so capable, and careful with her words, the emotion that plays across Lexa's face as she looks at Clarke is too much to speak. And so she leans down instead, and presses a deep, gentle kiss to her lips.

Looking up at Lexa in those few moments is enough to steal Clarke's breath entirely - but she refuses to break their kiss, happier to let the tightness in her lungs grow urgent than to allow them to be separated for a moment. When Lexa does finally pull away Clarke gasps, half for air and half in response to the lack of contact.

"You are beautiful, Clarke Griffin," Lexa says, her voice low and rough. Though Clarke's mouth is left unoccupied, her wish for contact does not go unanswered; Lexa's lips find her neck, placing slow, indulgent kisses beneath the corner of her jaw, on her pulse point, on the edge of her collarbone. She feels her teeth as Lexa shifts her weight back onto her knees, eliciting another gasp even before her hands find their way under Clarke's shirt. "In every way."  
  
Those hands skirt upwards, palms warmer than the fire searching out the plane of Clarke's stomach, the arc of her rib cage. The ridge of Lexa's hip bones rises above the low cut of her pants, and Clarke becomes very aware of that fact as, with her weight on one knee, Lexa stretches out the other - and presses that hip to the spot between Clarke's legs.

Clarke groans. Her back arches, causing the space between her legs to grind against Lexa’s hip. “You think so?” she says, only barely able to focus on forming a coherent sentence. She pulls on Lexa’s neck, intent on bringing her lips back to her own. “Even in a healer’s uniform?”

For the moment, Lexa abides the tug. She makes one final detour to lay a nip on Clarke's jaw, before giving in and returning her mouth to Clarke's. She grinds her hip into Clarke again, and flicks her tongue off Clarke's teeth when she opens her mouth to groan in response. When her back lifts off the carpet this time, Lexa's hands slide beneath.  
  
Not yet satisfied, Lexa sits back, using the new positioning of her hands to pull Clarke up with her. Resting once more on her knees, with Clarke sitting upright before her, Lexa breaks away long enough to finish pulling Clarke's shirt up and over her head. After she does, she tosses it aside with one hand and extends the other to brush a blonde curl back into place.  
  
"Do you really think I'm talking about the clothes you're wearing?" Lexa asks quietly, a soft grin on her lips. She doesn't wait for an answer, slipping a hand into Clarke's hair and around the back of her neck to bring their mouths together again. In the process, she tips Clarke back into the pile of pillows.

Clarke rarely takes a back seat. In discussions, in decisions, in life in general - and in her experience, that has proven to translate to sex as well. But in a rare, somewhat uncharacteristic moment, Clarke doesn’t _want_ the driver’s seat. It’s not that she doubts Lexa’s apology or can’t believe her own eyes, but letting go and giving control over to Lexa, even just for the time being, feels like as much trust as Clarke Griffin is capable of giving.  
  
So Clarke relaxes, consciously lets her muscles slacken and her hands roam where they want, not directing Lexa one way or another. She whimpers when Lexa pulls away again, but this time doesn’t pull her back.

Propped up on one hand, Lexa is free to move down Clarke's body. Her lips drift across her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder - down her breastbone, across her stomach. And every inch of the journey, Clarke can feel the muscles tensing and releasing in Lexa's back. Her fingers are greedy for the touch.  
  
The stays on her uniform pants are simple enough - just a few ties - and Lexa makes short work of them with her free hand. She doesn't move to immediately take them off, however. Instead, she pulls one corner down to expose Clarke's hip bone, and lays a sharp bite there.

That elicits a small gasp, followed by a whimper as Lexa rolls her tongue along the bite and kisses it. Clarke’s skin is hot, already nearly sweating from the heat of the fireplace, and her nerve endings are on fire. Even the lightest touch of Lexa’s lips makes her heart race - every line that her fingers trace on Clarke’s skin leaves a trail of crackling electricity.

Lexa hums somewhere deep in her throat, sitting back on her knees so she can use both hands. She curls her fingers around the waist of Clarke's pants, sliding them down in one slow, unbroken motion. A trail of kisses is left in her wake, across Clarke's hip, down the inside of her thigh, to the side of her knee. When the garment falls over her feet and away, Lexa looks up at her - and the look in her eyes makes Clarke's stomach flip.  
  
If Lexa's ministrations were slow that last night, they are doubly so now. The attention she lavishes across Clarke's body is at once blissfully gentle and tortuously thorough - but where Lexa lost herself before, prolonging the experience for Clarke because she herself didn't want it to end, she is laser-focused on her now. She takes her time, kissing Clarke's mouth all the way down to her breasts, until Clarke's hips strain upwards in a desperate plea for attention. When at last Lexa grants it, it is after a trail of kisses across her stomach, soft words whispered against her skin in alternating English and Trigedasleng, to culminate in a small bruise sucked into the inside of her hip bone.  
  
When she settles between Clarke's legs, it's with an arm wrapped under and around either bare thigh, hands free to roam the soft skin there and up her stomach. Her tongue is languid, but deliberate; she builds Clarke up slowly, changing just a little whenever she begins to run too hot too quickly. It's luxurious more than maddening, but beneath it all the tension builds. And just when Clarke thinks Lexa has set her sights on the end goal, she stops...and sinks a finger into her instead.

“Fuck...” Clarke moans. “Lexa, that feels so good.”  
  
The Commander makes a satisfied growl at that, low in her throat, and pushes another finger inside her. Clarke whimpers and her hips quake beneath Lexa’s hand. Her back arches, desperate to bring Lexa’s mouth harder against her, her fingers deeper. The combination of Lexa’s consistent, patient ministrations on her clit and her fingers, pressing and curling upward inside her, obliterates any meandering thoughts Clarke might have had. She moves her hands up to either side of her head and desperately clutches at the blankets and pillows there. Her body writhes uncontrollably, but it doesn’t seem to faze Lexa - her tongue never once pauses in its pattern and her fingers move persistently inside her, hitting exactly beneath her clit with each stroke.  
  
It takes very little time for Clarke to utterly unravel. She barely manages a strangled, “Lexa!” before the strongest orgasm she’s ever experienced crashes through her body.

She's only aware of Lexa's arm pinning her hips down in the resistance it creates as she strains; her fingers and mouth in their persistence in coaxing out every wave they can; the pillows and blankets behind her as the anchors she clings to as though she might slip away at any moment. Everything else - her anger at Lexa over the last two weeks, the stress of their forced proximity, the concerns of politics and her day-to-day life - is forgotten for those few, blissful seconds.  
  
She's left panting against the pillows once it passes, the occasional aftershock making her quake or jump. Particularly as Lexa's fingers and tongue insist on making slow, little strokes against her. It gets to the point that Clarke's hands have to fly down to stop her, as everything becomes too sensitive, too much, for her to handle in that moment.  
  
"Mm," Lexa hums, taking the hint. She slowly pulls her fingers back and lifts her head, before crawling back up Clarke's body. Propping herself up on her side, Lexa settles in beside Clarke, and brushes blonde hair from her forehead with her other hand. "Are you alright?"

Clarke makes an _mmmmhm_ sound and for a few moments refuses to open her eyes. When she does, Lexa is above her, her long hair curtained across her face on one side, looking at her with a kind of adoration she’s never seen before. Not on anyone else, and certainly not directed toward her.  
  
“‘Alright’ is an understatement,” Clarke mumbles. Her voice is hoarse, her throat dry. “How are you so good at that?” An instant later and before Lexa can respond, Clarke chuckles and shakes her head lightly. “Never mind, don’t answer that.”

Lexa tips her head back and laughs as well. When she looks at Clarke again, she takes a moment to put her fingers in her mouth, tasting Clarke off her own skin. "I have had a lot of time to imagine it," she says as she does. "More than I would like to admit to."

“I know the feeling,” Clarke says. Her fingers play in Lexa’s hair as her other hand grasps at her shoulder lightly. “I think I may never move again. In a good way,” she quickly adds at a concerned turn of Lexa’s mouth. She pulls Lexa down for a kiss, long and slow, and whispers against her lips, “I’m fine, I promise.”

"Good. As long as it's in a good way..." Lexa's fingertips brush Clarke's jaw as her lips linger on hers. When she pulls back, just a little, that look is in her eyes again until - Clarke can practically see the idea appear in her head, behind her eyes - she looks up at the pile of bedding Clarke is propped on. "I can help with that. Lift your head a moment?"  
  
Clarke does as she's asked, granting Lexa access to a blanket she had been half on. Lexa gets up, pulling the blanket free and fetching an additional pillow to take its place beneath Clarke's head. That blanket she pulls up beneath Clarke, a softer surface than the rug now under it, and sits down beside her again. She then drapes a second blanket over them, first over Clarke's legs and then her own, before reclining on her side once more. This time she props herself on her elbow, her head supported by her hand that disappears in her hair, leaving the other one free to settle on Clarke's stomach.  
  
"There," she says, satisfied with the new makeshift bed she's created. She smiles at Clarke, another of those soft, small expressions. "Now you won't have to move."

Clarke chuckles at Lexa’s self-satisfied expression. “Thank you, this is much better than I usually do.”  
  
Lexa’s collarbone and the muscles around her shoulders stand out in the position she’s in, and Clarke can’t help herself from tracing them with her hand. Memorizing them. Maybe she could draw something she can’t see - she’s been able to picture Lexa nearly perfectly the past two weeks without trying. But nothing compares to the real thing.  
  
A thought occurs to Clarke and she shifts her head to look up into Lexa’s eyes curiously. “What were you saying? Earlier, in Trigedasleng? Between still learning and being a bit...distracted,” Clarke grins, “I couldn’t make it out.”

Lexa's eyes go just a little bit wide at the question, before she quickly drops Clarke's gaze. Perhaps it's the glow of the fire, but Clarke could swear a little stain of pink comes to her cheek.  
  
"I said a few things," she hedges, suddenly much more interested in drawing aimless patterns across Clarke's stomach. "Was there something in particular?"

“I don’t know...” Clarke tries to think back, tries to focus on the words. “I was only half listening, I admit. I think the word ‘hold?' Or something like it? I'm not really sure.” Clarke touches Lexa’s cheek and tilts her head and her eyes back up to her own. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”

When their eyes meet again, there's no question - Lexa's face goes full on red. "No, it's alright," she says, and her eyes drop again for a brief moment. Then she sighs, pushes herself back up, and shifts her arm beneath Clarke's neck. Laying down again, she pulls Clarke to her shoulder.  
  
"What you heard me say..." she says carefully, intermittently looking at Clarke and the ceiling. "Was _ai hod yu in._ " There is a nervous look in her eyes when they finally settle on Clarke. "It means, 'I love you'."

Even as Lexa says the phrase in Trigedasleng, Clarke recognizes it. She’s read far enough in _Pride & Prejudice _ to have learned the phrase for ‘I love you,’ she just didn’t have the faculties in the moment Lexa spoke the words earlier to recognize them. But now...  
  
Clarke looks from one of Lexa’s eyes to the other, somehow simultaneously unsurprised and in utter disbelief. “You...love me?”

She didn't know it was possible for Lexa's face to achieve that dark a shade of red. "I'm sorry," she says quickly, looking away again. "I didn't intend to say so tonight - after everything I have already put on you in the last hour it feels unfair to add to the load, but I--"

Clarke pulls Lexa's gaze back to her and brings her mouth down to hers, not forcefully but not gently either, sufficiently cutting her off. For a moment she has the absurd urge to never let her go, to keep Lexa's lips pressed against her own for eternity. Instead, she pulls back slowly, just far enough that she can meet Lexa's eyes. " _Ai hod yu in, Leksa._ " Clarke swallows, her mouth suddenly even drier than before. "I love you, too."

There's a beat of silence. Briefly, Clarke finds herself wondering for a second time that evening if she'd spoken loudly enough - which is absurd, Lexa isn't even an inch away from her. But nonetheless, the other woman is frozen in place, looking at her with wide eyes.  
  
And then she's kissing her. Lexa's arm tightens around her shoulders and with her hand on Clarke's hip, she eagerly draws their bodies together; so eagerly that Clarke finds herself rolling onto her back with the force of it, Lexa's body a pleasant, solid weight against her own. Their legs entangle, and for a moment they are both entirely lost in the kiss - until Clarke notices the drop of a tear pressed against her cheek.

"Hey." Clarke can barely move away from her long enough to speak, they're so tightly pressed together, but she manages to move a hand up to brush a thin stream of tears from Lexa's cheek. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Lexa says immediately, propping herself up on the arm behind Clarke's shoulders so she can brush at the tears herself with her other hand. "Yes, I'm fine. Better than fine - I'm sorry, I didn't really expect--"

“Really? After all this?” Clarke’s smile is full of affection even as she teases, “You think I would have gone through all of this if I didn’t love you?”

"I didn't expect you _to_ go through all this!" Lexa answers, laughing even as new tears fall to replace those already brushed away. "I fully expected you to turn me away before I even had a chance to speak."

“Not an unreasonable expectation, all things considered,” Clarke admits. “But I can’t help who I love. I loved you yesterday, when I thought you’d destroyed this and I’d never have it again. I couldn’t help it. Not that I’d ever have admitted that before...” Clarke feels a blush start at the base of her neck, "and I can’t really believe I just admitted it now.”

Lexa's eyes are soft when she says with a smile, "I am very glad you did."  
  
They fall asleep there on the floor in front of the fireplace, wrapped up in blankets and each other. When Lexa wakes before dawn the next morning, it is not with fear and anxiety, but with a soft kiss that she leaves Clarke before departing to get ready for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Now that THAT nonsense is out of the way - who's ready for some fluff?


	5. Heda of the Hill

There is no immediate, obvious change in the days that follow. Clarke resumes her schedule, dividing her time between training, politics, and the clinic as she had in the two weeks before. But rather than dodging Lexa at every opportunity, lest the anger she so carefully tempered overflow, a tentative familiarity asserts itself. It quickly becomes clear that merely coming to an understanding isn't enough to figure out how to navigate this new way of relating to each other - or to wipe out the damage done in those weeks in between.  
  
But it's a start.

At first, Clarke is hesitant to go back to Lexa's room. Not only has she not been there since the morning that she stormed out, but she's also not sure what their new normal even looks like. But the next night not only does she get up the nerve to return to Lexa's room, but the Commander is waiting for her when she walks in. Lexa stands immediately when she hears the door open, a smile already on her face, and Clarke exhales a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Whatever has happened, whatever they've been through, this is real. Finally, it's real.  
  
But it isn't immediately clear how they should navigate this new relationship. It seems obvious that it's best to keep it a secret, or at least attempt to, but _how_ is another matter. Neither of them is willing to go too long without the other, but it becomes clear rather quickly that they need to establish some boundaries.  
  
"I think we need some ground rules," Clarke muses. They're back in Lexa's bed, nestled against each other at some absurdly early hour. Clarke is propped up on an elbow next to Lexa, a finger lazily trailing over her breasts and tattoo. "Like for example, I think it's better if we spend time together here, in your room. There are so many other ambassadors on my floor, someone is bound to notice the Commander wandering around the hallways."

Lexa's eyes are closed, but the pattern of her breathing betrays that she isn't asleep. She begins to nod, a gentle thing, before Clarke finishes speaking. "Agreed," she says, and her voice is low and languid. "Anyone who would be on this floor is someone we can trust."

"Well that one was easy." Clarke's lips turn up in an affectionate smile as Lexa doesn't even open her eyes, just nestles a little closer into Clarke's arm. "I'm assuming we just maintain our professional relationship when we're in public? Or am I allowed to kiss _Heda_ in front of other dignitaries?" Clarke chuckles at an image that comes to mind, "I can just imagine Ronnie's face if he saw that."

"I'm sure it would break his poor heart," Lexa says with a chuckle. Only as the amusement fades does she open her eyes, sobering a bit.  
  
"That may be best for now," she says, and lifts a hand to twist a curl of Clarke's hair around her finger. Her voice drops even lower as she continues: "They are going to find out about this," she frowns a moment, corrects herself, "about us. There is little question of that. And when they do, we should be prepared. But...we should keep it a secret for as long as we can. At least try."

“What does prepared look like?” Clarke wonders aloud. She shifts closer to Lexa, curls her arm tighter around her shoulders. “It’s easy not to think about it when we’re together, like this. But it’s not going to be easy.” She sighs and meets Lexa’s eyes. “For them, to believe that we’re still ourselves outside of this, and for us. To be what they need us to be, outside of this.”

"Mm." A smirk makes its way to the corner of her mouth again. "I think one of those will be harder than the other."

“Oh?” Clarke purses her lips, amused. “And which is that?”

"We are better for our people together than we are separate," Lexa answers, and if there ever was a doubt in her mind about that, it makes no appearance now. Her hand disentangles from Clarke's hair and traces her jaw instead. "But they will call that strength our weakness, and bias."  
  
“Yes,” Clarke can’t help her stomach from dropping at that reality, “I know. I don’t know how we’ll combat that, at least not yet. But the more immediate concern is us. Politics will find its way here,” and she gestures generally to the bed around them, to Lexa next to her, “whether we want it to or not.”  
  
Lexa's hand drops from her hair and she lifts her head, only to set it down at an angle to look at her. With eyes moving between both of Clarke's, she says, "Are you worried?"

“Yes and no.” Clarke sighs. “No, because it will happen no matter what we do. Our interests will not always align and it will affect our relationship. So I guess there isn’t much we can do about that, aside from be aware of it. But ultimately yes, because I can’t help but be worried. I don’t want this to fall apart before it begins.”

In response, Lexa props herself up on one elbow, angling her torso so that she and Clarke are on a level. "It will not be easy," she acknowledges. She lifts her free hand to touch Clarke's face again. "But we found each other, in the midst of open war. Surely we are strong enough for this."

Clarke’s heart flips a little at the confidence in Lexa’s voice. Just a few weeks ago, Clarke would never have guessed that Lexa would be the one reassuring her. The realization makes her lips curl up in a small smile and she leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Lexa’s lips.  
  
“You’re right,” Clarke says. “I don’t doubt that we’re strong enough. Just remember you said that when I next piss you off.”

That pulls a responding smile to Lexa's lips, and she tips her head forward to nudge Clarke with her nose. "We are strongest when we are honest with each other," she says, her voice a whisper. Her smile crooks towards a grin as she adds, "But I will be sure to remind myself in my frustration."

“You should.” Clarke shifts them slowly, until Lexa is on her back and she’s just above her, their legs entwined. “And while you’re at it, when you’re frustrated, remind yourself that I love you. I plan to do the same, difficult though you are.”

Lexa's eyebrows go up at that, but her grin remains. "I'm sorry?" she hums, hands settling on Clarke's hips. "I do not recall admitting to being anything other than perfectly kind and charitable."

“I think I could count on one hand,” Clarke murmurs between light kisses along Lexa’s jaw, “the number of things you’ve actually admitted to.” She moves down her neck and bites sharply on her pulse point, earning a small gasp the other woman. “Thankfully, you are often easy to read.”

"Try not to spread that around," Lexa breathes, her eyes flitting closed and fingers tensing against Clarke's hips. "My stoicism is my best defense."

Clarke grinds her hips down against Lexa, forcing their naked bodies even closer together. “That’s probably true. But you haven’t really answered my question.” She moves down to Lexa’s collarbone, nipping as she goes. “Are there any other ground rules we should discuss?”

Those hips push back as Lexa squirms under the attention. "Though it pains me to say it..." she says, "we probably should not stay together every night."

“Mmmm.” Clarke bites down harder than before, leaving two thin bite marks just beneath Lexa’s collarbone. “I’ll just have to make sure I leave something for you to remember me by in the meantime.”

"Nothing visible!" Lexa gasps quickly, fingernails catching on Clarke's skin. She gulps, and in a more moderated tone says, "No visible marks. Rule number four."

Clarke chuckles and gently kisses the same spot. “Fine. Nothing visible.” She moves farther down, sucking and nipping at skin as she goes. She settles her elbows on either side of Lexa’s waist and focuses on one of her breasts. “Is that enough rules? I admit,” Clarke rolls her tongue over a nipple and then brings it between her teeth, biting softly before releasing it, “I’m having a hard time thinking of any more right at the moment.”

The breath in Lexa's lungs chokes out as a grunt, and she pushes her torso up into Clarke. "I think you may be distracted," she says, hands searching out the lines of Clarke's shoulder blades.

"Maybe we need to take a break," Clarke hums. She moves slowly down Lexa's stomach, tracing the muscles there with her tongue before settling between her legs. "Just for a bit."  
  
A few hours later, both women finally pass out - Lexa is draped over Clarke, her head on her chest, one of Clarke's arms wrapped possessively around Lexa's middle and the other stretched up over her pillow. They don't wake up until the sun is already peeking through the windows of Lexa's room and when they do, it's clear that neither of them have moved an inch.

There are circles under Lexa's eyes, and even as she sits up - gingerly, as her choice of pillow has left her a little stiff - she yawns. The scent and glow of sex lingers about her, but it's clear from her expression that the Commander got little sleep last night.  
  
"Rule number five:" she says groggily, wagging a hand in Clarke's direction, "bed times."

That afternoon Clarke makes her way as usual to the clinic, a little worse for wear from the lack of sleep and a particularly grueling training session with Ronnie - she suspects he hasn't taken too kindly to being an afterthought. She should fix that. There are many things she's prefer her new relationship with Lexa not interfere with, and her friendship with Ronnie is one of them.  
  
The clinic isn't too busy, just a few minor fractures and cuts to sew up. At one point she heads back to a supply closet for more thread when she nearly trips over something - something that then _meows_.  
  
Clarke's heart leaps into her throat and she automatically reaches for the knife behind her with one hand and brandishes the needle she already holds in the other. When she sees the culprit, she scowls at herself and quickly tucks the needle away into the pocket of her shirt. It's just a cat...a very small, orange cat. It looks up at her and makes that sound again, looking oddly insulted that Clarke had the audacity to trip over it. She looks around, but no one seems to mind that it's there or find the scene odd. Carlisle had mentioned that there were cats all around the city and that they occasionally got into the clinic, but she'd never seen one until now.  
  
The fact remains that there aren't _supposed_ to be cats in the clinic, so Clarke fishes in her pockets for something that she could use...and lands on a piece of dried meat she'd snagged from Tara's stores yesterday morning.  
  
"Do you want this?" she asks, and dangles the meat in front of the cat. It meows even louder and steps up onto its hind legs, sniffing the food with its little pink nose. Clarke grins at how adorable it is and begins to walk backward. "Come here, kitty..." she leads it into the hallway and up onto a nearby window ledge. She opens the window and tosses the food out and watches as the cat instantly bounds after it. She's almost sorry to see it go, but she can't have cats wandering the clinic while there are open wounds and sick people around. She latches the window again and finally grabs the thread she was searching for from the supply closet.

Later that day she returns to that same closet for clean rags, only to hear that same window rattle as she passes. The glass in it is old and warped, all but opaque with fog - meaning she can see only a vaguely orange blur walk past it once, and then again. It sits, and a small orange paw pushes its way through a tiny gap between the frame and the pane, flapping upwards as though attempting to reach the latch...a good foot above. With a raised eyebrow she watches it for a moment, then sighs. Unlatching the window once more she edges it open just a little - prompting not a paw, but a full front leg to now start scrambling through - and pokes another bit of meat through. It disappears, snatched up quickly by the seeking paw, and she takes the window of opportunity to close the window again. She hears another muted _mow_ from the other side, but wounds need to be cleaned and she moves on.  
  
A small orange ghost haunts the clinic after that; more specifically, it haunts Clarke. Few others seem to run into the thing, the cat appearing only when Clarke is around and, usually, alone. Each time she shoos it away, and each time it finds another way in. Every time, it makes sure to leave with a fresh bite of food from Clarke's pocket.  
  
(She tells herself she doesn't start carrying specifically cat-friendly food, but all the food she happens to snag for her lunches and snacks conveniently has at least one such component.)  
  
This all culminates in her leaving the clinic one afternoon to find the little orange animal hanging out in the alley beside the door. It sits on a box and licks its paw until it spots Clarke, at which point it looks up. Green eyes watch her as she passes and then, with hardly a sound, it hops down and falls into step behind her.

Clarke gets nearly to the tower before she finally loses her temper and whirls around. “Can I help you?!”  
  
The cat just stares at her, which she shouldn’t be surprised by - it’s a cat, after all - but it does serve to fuel her annoyance. Its silence as well as the realization that she’s yelling at a cat.  
  
“If you’re going to follow me around everywhere, you may as well come inside.” It continues to blink at her, but when Clarke turns around again it continues to follow her. It follows her all the way to the tower and then to the elevator...where it stops. And hisses.  
  
Clarke jumps at the sound, her mind taking her back to the wilderness in an instant. This cat may be small, but it looks very similar to wildcats - and it sounds like them even more. But when she looks back at it, it’s just cowering in a corner, looking far more terrified than intimidating.  
  
“Hey...” Clarke rubs the back of her neck self consciously, but the few people walking by don’t pay much attention to her. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s just an elevator...”  
  
Clarke walks toward the cat and bends down until she’s closer to its level. “If you don’t come on the elevator, you can’t come up—“  
  
She does not get a chance to finish that sentence. The cat hops up without warning, straight toward her, and out of instinct she reaches out her hands...and is suddenly holding a cat. She doesn’t have too long to marvel at this new reality, however. The cat scrambles up her arm and onto her shoulders, digging in its surprisingly sharp claws as it goes. Clarke barely has time to exclaim “ow!” before the cat has settled, albeit tensely, behind her neck and across her shoulders.  
  
Clarke stands very slowly. The cat doesn’t move. “Okay...that works.”  
  
It stays on her shoulders the entire way up the elevator, practically quivering with what Clarke can only assume is fear. She’s impressed at its tenacity - if she were this afraid, it’s unlikely she’d go anywhere near an elevator, let alone trust a near stranger to operate it. The instant they reach the top and Clarke steps into the hallway, the cat leaps down onto the floor. It threads its way between her legs, rubbing up on her shins and making a purr sound - then wanders back a foot and sits. Waiting.  
  
Clarke sighs and keeps walking toward her room. A shadow thrown against the wall by the torchlight reveals a smaller shadow, trailing behind her.

"...We'll have to make sure we have enough supplies, and for that we'll have to coordinate with _Floukru_." Lexa's voice precedes her down the hallway, and she appears a moment later with Elena in tow. "Have Jada sent to the--"  
  
In compliance with their rules, she does not initially stop to talk to Clarke, only offering her a nod. Until she spots the tiny orange panther very obviously following her, at which point she halts in her tracks.

"Yeah..." The cat doesn't sit down when Clarke stops but stays on its feet, looking at Lexa with, at best, wary curiosity. "It just...followed me home. I've given up trying to make it go away."

The Commander looks between it and Clarke, confusion written on her face. "...it's a cat."

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “An astute observation, Commander.”

Lexa's brow puckers with a frown. "Why is it following you?"

“It was prowling around the clinic. I may have fed it...a few times.” Clarke shrugs, a little sheepish. “It eats mice, just like the others in the tower. It’ll be more useful here. Besides,” and at this point the cat has resumed its rubbing of and threading between Clarke’s legs, “I’ve grown a little attached to it.”

"But it's a cat," Lexa says again, befuddled nonetheless. "It's a mouser, not a pet."

“I don’t know what it is, but it appears to have chosen me to be its...” Clarke throws up her hands in a dramatic shrug, “friend, I guess. I don’t know. Watch,” and she bends down just the way she had before the elevator, this time with arms slightly outstretched. The cat doesn’t hesitate to leap into her arms and scurry up to its spot on her shoulders. It’s claws, blessedly, dig into her clothes and skin slightly less this time. “I think it’s a she,” Clarke muses. The cat lets her pet its head and the purring gets even louder.

"It is a she," Elena supplies helpfully. Lexa looks back at her as though she had forgotten she was there. The handmaid shrugs in response.  
  
When Lexa's attention returns to Clarke, she watches her scratch the cat's head for a moment...before shrugging herself. "Just...make sure it doesn't get into trouble."

“I’ll do my best.” Clarke smiles at Lexa and winks. “See you later, Commander.”  
  
She turns back down the hallway before Lexa can respond, the cat still propped on her shoulders. The instant Clarke opens the door, she jumps down to the floor and begins what appears to be a very thorough investigation of the space. “I suppose you need a name...” Clarke says, to the cat and to herself. She glances at the closest book on the table across from her - _The Lord of the Rings_. “How about...Pippin? Or Pip. Yeah, Pip, that’s better. What do you think?” The cat looks up at her for a moment, blinks, and then continues its prowling. “I’m going to assume that’s a yes.”  
  
Clarke is hungry herself and, it occurs to her, she’s now put herself officially in charge of this animal’s diet. So she locks the door with Pip inside, lest she follow her down to the kitchens - who knows what Tara would do to a cat she found prowling around her food stores - and heads down to acquire food for them both.  
  
By the time she returns with a bowl of beef stew, Pip is nowhere to be seen. Clarke has no idea how she could’ve gotten out or where she would’ve gone, but she leaves the bowl on the floor near the far end of the fireplace anyway. By the time her eyes are closing of their own accord, her book laid out flat on her chest, she hears a light lapping sound and turns to see Pip licking at the bowl. Clarke smiles and falls asleep not two minutes later, Pip already having gulped down the meat from the soup and settled on the rug at the base of Clarke’s chair.

Her routine resumes, but now with an extra step. When she stays with Lexa, the Commander wakes her with her early morning preparations; when she stays in her room - she finally does think of it as her room, though not without some degree of resentment - Pip wakes her, usually with some combination of loud meowing, snuffling in her hair, and swatting her nose with her paw. The cat most certainly escapes her room during the day, but if she hunts mice in that time there is no indication. She mewls until Clarke feeds her every morning and every night, until Clarke begins to suspect she's ceased hunting altogether. Certainly she seems to gain a pound or two in the time she's stayed in the tower.  
  
Training continues outside, though the days grow darker and colder. The pitch is now often littered with cloaks and coats as the trainees dress in more and more layers to ward it off, only to discard them when they become too cumbersome. Ronnie still beats her regularly, but there is little question that Clarke is improving. Her body marks the changes: her muscles gain definition, she isn't as easily winded, and she walks away with fewer bruises. When Clarke mentions the last part one day while working in Lexa's room, the Commander muses that the additional layers of clothing may have something to do with that. She earns a discarded piece of paper, curled up into a ball and lobbed at her head, for the comment.  
  
Most of her daylight hours are spent at the clinic, where Carlisle and the other healers begin to teach her about the techniques they use to solve problems she isn't familiar with. Stitching wounds and setting bones is helpful, but there are many other issues that ail the citizens of Polis she is less accustomed to treating. As she learns, her Trigedasleng improves, and before long she is able to carry on fluent - if simple - conversations with her patients. _Klark kom Skaikru_ becomes a familiar name to those who frequent the clinic. So far as she can tell, _Wanheda_ is never spoken, which suits Clarke just fine.  
  
And when the sun begins to set some hours before dinner, she returns to the tower to continue building her relationships with the ambassadors. The issues that concern her and the Sky People are few and far between in comparison to the drove of problems that come across Lexa's desk every day, but politics never really sleeps. When necessary, she conveys questions and concerns back to Arkadia with Raven's communicator. Responses are generally prompt and rarely difficult to manage; Abby and her government are clearly interested in working with the Coalition, for the moment. But mixed in with them are personal messages: her mom, wishing her well; Bellamy, reminding her to be safe; Kane, thanking her for her work. And then there's Raven.  
  
Raven has managed to make the transmission of these short messages into an art form, and uses it to relay to Clarke all of the idiotic and asinine things her friends do back in Arkadia. _Have to keep you abreast of what happens,_ she writes back one day after Clarke asks her the purpose of these periodic updates, _How else can you accurately represent us?_ The next morning, she wakes up to a two sentence story of Monty and Jasper attempting to double the size of their still and succeeding only in burning down nearly an entire row of tents. And the next, Bellamy walking half-naked through the snow after his latest fling kicked him out in the middle of the night. The list goes on.  
  
They're good for a laugh - and supply an endless list of stories to share with Lexa, who is left baffled more often than not by _Skaikru's_ way of life. Clarke is mostly glad to have a way to stay close to her friends, even at this distance.  
  
And all the while there's the woman herself: Lexa. They manage to abide by their dictated rules - though not without a fair bit of grumbling on both their parts - and are (mostly) professional during the day and (mostly) stay in their separate rooms at night. But there are stolen hours of afternoons and long stretches of nights where there is only her, only them. And in the mornings that follow, Elena doesn't have to pretend to not be surprised when Clarke walks out of the Commander's bedroom.  
  
She follows Lexa down to the training pitch on one such morning to discover that it had started snowing the night before. Quite a bit has accumulated on the ground they find as they stand on the steps, watching someone bundled in heavy layers frantically shovel a path through the newly made snow drifts. Lexa lifts a gloved hand, watching a few flakes land on worn leather.

“Wow...” Clarke breathes. This is the first time it’s truly snowed since she arrived, and she’s never seen so much of it. There are little piles of the stuff everywhere, and as of yet totally untouched sweeps of it across the courtyard and down to the training pitch.

"This wasn't supposed to start until tonight. Maybe even tomorrow," Lexa is muttering to herself. Oblivious to Clarke's wonder, she wears a frown of concern - even annoyance. She sighs, and starts off down the path that the shoveler has cleared off. "I'll have to tell Titus he was right."

“He doesn’t seem like the type who needs reminding.” Clarke grabs a fistful of snow in a gloved hand and mushes it together between her fingers. “Besides, look at this! It’s beautiful.” Clarke sighs as the cold from the snow already begins to sleep through the glove. “I'd happily stay out here all day.”

When the Commander turns to look at her, the annoyance in her expression evaporates. It's replaced by a small smile, amusement in her eyes. "You haven't grown tired of it?" she asks. "That is a promising sign."

"Well not yet." Clarke flips her hood up and shoves her hands in her pockets. "I'm sure it's only a matter of time."

They trudge their way through the snow to the training pitch, where Clarke joins the Commander in a few warm up exercises until Ronnie appears. If it's occurred to him to ask why she has been showing up so early on some days, he hasn't asked. Bless his heart.  
  
The rest of the Nightbloods arrive earlier than usual, and while most - including Kita - linger by the fence to watch Lexa complete her exercises, others busy themselves in the snow. The pitch itself has been dug out, leaving only a thin layer of snow between foot and the ground. While that layer gradually gets packed down by Clarke, Ronnie, and Lexa - sometimes by boots, sometimes by asses and backs - the snow beyond the fence stays piled a foot and a half high. More snow that had been removed from the field is piled to one side, making a small mountain between the fence and the surrounding wall. Those Nightbloods who have not been entranced by Lexa - some of them hardly tall enough to be able to lift their foot fully out of the snow - have taken to trying to climb it, intermittently sinking into its loosely packed material or sliding back down its side.

By the time they're done training, Clarke has managed to get a few more hits in on Ronnie than usual. He stretches a little to the side after they put the equipment away. "Hurt yourself?" Clarke teases.  
  
Ronnie rolls his eyes, but there's a grin on his face as always. "Nah, I just slept a little funny. Made me a little off my game this morning."  
  
"Oh is that your excuse?" Clarke turns her back to him for a moment to grab her coat and toss it back over your shoulders. "Because it seemed to me like I be--"  
  
 _THUNK_. Clarke's shoulders tense as something hits her square in the middle of her back. Something heavy and... wet? She spins around to see Ronnie shaking out his right hand and wielding a packed ball of snow in the other. "Did you just--?" Clarke ducks just in time to avoid another ball of snow directly to the face. "Hey!"

"Come on, Clarke," he laughs, and stoops to pick up more snow between his hands. The Nightbloods on the snow mound have turned their attention to the two of them. "Don't they have snowballs where you're from??"

"They don't have _snow_ where I'm from, you know that!" Clarke laughs and imitates his actions. It takes her a few moments to pack it into a firm ball - a few moments in which Ronnie smacks her in the hip with yet another snowball - but when she does, she manages to nail him directly in the ass.  
  
It takes very little time for Ronnie to take cover behind the mountain of snow and enlist the Nightbloods climbing it, leaving Clarke out in the open and totally undefended. She takes several hits before finally diving behind the barrels of wooden swords. Snow has already piled around them, and it takes just thirty seconds or so for her to build the snow high enough to cover her head if she's kneeling. A few of the Nightbloods who were ignoring them before have now taken an interest, and Clarke quickly beckons them over to her side. "Come on, help me out!" They look hesitant, but a few quick rounds of snowballs pelted their way from Ronnie's mountain quickly convinces them to jump behind Clarke's makeshift snow wall.  
  
"Okay, we got this," Clarke says, feeling suddenly very much like the general of her own little snowball-flinging army. "Some of us have to pack snowballs and some of us throw them. Right?" They nod, and instantly start divvying up the responsibilities. Clarke would be impressed if she weren't so focused on packing snowballs herself and handing them off to the kids closest to her.  
  
Suddenly, a dark blur runs by and stops about twenty feet away from their makeshift war zone. Lexa, jogging back from her own training session, stops to raise an eyebrow at the scene. Clarke grins at herself and grabs the closest snowball. She's not exactly sure of her aim - she takes the chance and stands for just a moment, long enough to lob the snowball high in the air...and directly into Lexa's shoulder.

At its impact, all movement freezes. The Commander still has her sword in her hand, its razor's edge glinting in the winter morning light, and with a deliberate motion, she holds it out to one side and slowly, _so_ slowly, slides it back into its sheath. Her expression is its usual imperially impassive self, but she draws herself up to her full height and, in that voice that seems to echo in Clarke's very bones, says, " _Natbliddas!"_   
  
Every Nightblood stands swiftly to attention, their heads bowed, their fists over their hearts. Even Ronnie, now standing atop the snow mound freezes as though her voice alone has instilled the fear of the gods into him. She doesn't look at Clarke.  
  
In the stillness that follows, Lexa crosses the fence dividing Clarke's side from Ronnie's. Clarke watches as she, cool as you please and taking every moment of her own time, walks over to the nearest Nightblood. The girl, no more than eight and not yet at her growth spurt, is thigh-deep in the snow. In her normal voice, Lexa asks her, " _Shodi, hu sida yu won?"_  
  
Clarke quickly parses the words: _To whom do you owe your allegiance?_  
  
" _Yu, Heda,_ " the girl responds, but her voice wobbles and she does not look up. Lexa raises an eyebrow, stooping down a little and to one side, as though trying to catch the girl's eye.  
  
" _Wossat?"_  
  
The girl's head snaps up to meet her Commander's eyes, and in a voice that echoes around the space says, " _Yu, Heda!"_  
  
"Good." Lexa holds out her hand. "Give it to me."  
  
The small Nightblood holds a snowball in the hand that isn't across her heart, and she guiltily deposits it in the Commander's waiting palm.  
  
"Thank you," Lexa says. And then, with a side arm so fast and unexpected Clarke almost doesn't see it, she promptly whips it at Clarke.

Clarke only has time to turn her back to it, which means it _thunks_ painfully against her shoulder blade as opposed to her chest.  
  
“Okay, now it’s on.” Clarke throws another snowball she’d picked up in Lexa’s direction, but the Commander has plenty of time to jump for cover behind the mountain of snow.  
  
Kita yanks Clarke back down behind the barrels just as a frenzy of snowballs launches from behind behind the pile of snow directly where she was standing. “Did that seem underhanded to you?” Clarke asks breathlessly. Kita just smiles - small, but earnest. So similar to Lexa. “Yeah, I thought so. Okay, Kita you’re in charge. Let’s get 'em.” Ronnie whoops from his position on top of the snow pile as another hail of snowballs pounds against the barrels. “And someone knock him down, he’s getting on my nerves.”

" _Sha, Wanheda!"_  
  
The sound of activity and snow-based battle returns to the training pitch, with Lexa taking control of the team behind the snow mound and Clarke - through Kita - leading the other. Kita barks orders, and in minutes her half of the Nightbloods have become a well-oiled snowball-making machine. Two on either side work diligently on building and maintaining their defenses, while others alternate between supplying snowballs and popping out of cover to launch them at the opposing side. Lexa seems more interested in instructing her Nightbloods in perfect throwing techniques than organizing them, but every snowball she throws lands with stinging speed and accuracy. It's her blows, and those delivered by her instructed Nightbloods, that batter the weaker parts of their barrel-based defenses, and force constant repairs on the snow that sloughs off and cracks under their fastball attacks.  
  
Ronnie, on the other hand, has a vantage point from the top of his mountain that allows him to pelt Kita's defenders from over the top of their wall. He whoops and hollers as he does, landing lobbed shots on any who duck too slowly or too shallowly to escape his wrath. A number of Clarke's Nightbloods - and Clarke herself - end up with snow on their heads and down the back of their shirts until, with gritted teeth, Kita pops up with a snowball firmly packed and the size of her fist. With a roar, she fires it at Ronnie on his roost...and beans him right in the stomach.  
  
" _Oof!"_ The sound of the impact can be heard from Clarke's position, and the second oldest Nightblood wobbles on the top of the snow mound. Knowing that he's losing his balance, Ronnie dives off the side of the hill and rolls his way down.  
  
" _Heda_ of the Hilltop!" Kita shouts then, a battle cry that echoes across the field - and a moment later, every black-clad figure, big or small, makes a rush to claim the spot Ronnie has just vacated.  
  
Every black-clad figure except for Lexa, of course. As her Nightbloods break cover and scramble for the top spot, she steps out from the shelter of the mound and eyes Clarke. A firmly packed snowball sits in her hand.

Clarke has a snowball in hers as well, but she puts it behind her back now before standing slowly. “Lexa...” Clarke holds out her other hand but the Commander still walks toward her, “it was just for fun, there’s no need for...”  
  
Clarke knows the element of surprise is her only chance, so she takes it. She whips the snowball from behind her back and lobs it at Lexa’s head. She dodges it, of course, but also chucks the snowball in her own hand at Clarke immediately as she does - just as Clarke hoped she would.  
  
The snowball comes too fast, but Clarke isn’t concerned about dodging it - she’d started running before Lexa had a chance to throw it. She puts up a shoulder, blocking just half the snow from splattering on her face, and in the next instant careens into the Commander and shoves her into the deep snow.

The landing really is less dramatic, as both bodies disappear into the snow with a muted _fwoop_.  
  
Lexa clearly isn't expecting the tackle, but her arms close around Clarke nonetheless as they fall. She lands on her back with a grunt, Clarke on top of her, and a good two feet of snow surrounding them. Her face twists in momentary discomfort, but she settles out beneath Clarke and looks up at her, green eyes blinking.  
  
"How is it that every time we face off," she says, voice a little strained - Clarke realizes then that her weight is on Lexa's diaphragm, "I end up on my back?"

Clarke laughs - really, truly laughs. “I’m sorry,” she manages to get out, and shifts her weight so that she’s not exactly on top of Lexa, only partially. “You’re just so...” she rocks her head back and forth in thought, lips pursed, “Difficult. It’s the easiest way to get you where I want you.” Clarke nips Lexa’s lower lip, earning an impossibly simultaneous whimper and glower from the Commander, before jumping back up. She isn't up for long.

"I'll show you...difficult!" Lexa grunts, and sweeps Clarke's leg. Not quite having her feet under her, Clarke drops, catching herself on her hands and knees. Lexa promptly sits up and stuffs a handful of snow down the collar of Clarke's shirt.

Clarke grunts from the impact and then again as ice cold slides down her skin. She has enough faculties to twist around and grab Lexa’s arm as she pulls away, hoping to wrench her back down to the ground - but the Commander has the high ground and this time she’s ready.  
  
Lexa grabs Clarke’s forearm and yanks up, rendering Clarke’s attempt at pulling her down useless and resulting instead in Clarke being forced up to a standing position, arm trapped firmly at an angle behind her back. “Okay,” Clarke breathes, now inches from Lexa. Her green eyes sparkle with amusement and it makes Clarke smile. “You win, Commander.”

Lexa's other hand has settled on her hip, though whether it is to strengthen her grip on Clarke or to pull her closer isn't entirely clear. Though it is _mostly_ clear, from the way Lexa chuckles low in her throat; the sound sends a shiver up Clarke's back that has nothing to do with the cold.  
  
"It's about time," she says softly, and they're so close Clarke can feel the breath of her words against her face. And then she lets her go. Clarke takes the opportunity to shake out her arm, and close a hand around the previously captured wrist.  
  
"Don't get used to it," she answers, and throws a wink that makes the Commander blush.  
  
When everyone is wet and cold and tired, it's one of the smallest Nightbloods who stands the victor atop the snowy knoll. The same young girl who gave Lexa the snowball crows her success to the darkening sky as she raises both her fists upwards. Even as she does one of the boys tries to climb to take her place, his limbs slow and clumsy with cold, but Kita is waiting. She has taken residence a foot from the top, lodged between two boulders of frozen snow, and as he attempts to pass she plants a foot on his chest and kicks him off the hill. When she catches Clarke's eye a moment later, she offers that same small smile.  
  
Clothes disheveled and heavy with melted - and in some cases, partially refrozen - snow, Clarke, Lexa, and the Nightbloods trudge back to the tower to get warm, their daily training all but forgotten. Above them, the late morning sky has turned an almost preternatural shade of grey, the like of which Clarke has never seen in her time on Earth. The wind picks up, and the guards in the foyer close the tower's many doors behind them.  
  
When the lift arrives upstairs the Nightbloods exit as one, waddling in their sopping layers and numb limbs towards the stairs. The halls are strangely deserted, given that it's midday, leaving only the usual guards as witness when Lexa turns to Clarke.  
  
"I do not think much politicking will be happening today," the Commander says. She still has globs of snow in her hair, but the snow that has already melted now weighs the dark curls down. For a moment, Clarke is reminded of the time she accidentally surprised Lexa in the bath. "If you would like to join me..."

“I would. Very much, but...” Clarke looks back down the hall where they came from, as if she’ll see that unnaturally dark sky somehow through the stone. “Is a storm coming? I should make sure Carlisle is prepared at the clinic. I’ve read about winter storms, people could be hurt...”

Before she can turn too far Lexa's hand closes around hers - as though she's worried that Clarke will turn and run before she can stop her. "The storm is early," she says, "but it is not unexpected. And to go out now...if the wind continues to rise, you will not be able to see ten feet in front of you."

“You’ll stop me?” Clarke looks into Lexa’s eyes, searching them. “Would you, if I tried to go?”

The Commander hesitates. Both women watch each other, searching the other's eyes as though waiting for her to react. In the end, Lexa is the first to blink; she releases Clarke's hand, lets her own fall to her side.  
  
"I do not think I could," Lexa says, "and were it not important, I would not even try. But as it is," she meets Clarke's eyes again. "I am asking you, Clarke. Stay."

Clarke’s jaw tightens, worry filling her...all her patients. Do they have enough food and medicine and water? Did she make sure to dress their wounds and give them the right doses on time, such that they’ll last through the storm? Will Carlisle have enough people helping him?  
  
She almost runs back out - she’d probably make it back to the tower later, and even if she didn’t she could stay at the clinic. But she’d just be another person to feed, and Lexa knows more of what a winter storm brings than Clarke does. And more than that, Clarke trusts her. Lexa knows how important her work is, and she wouldn’t tell her to stay if it weren’t dire. She believes that.  
  
“Okay.” Clarke nods and takes Lexa’s hand again. “I believe you. I’ll stay.” She allows herself a small smile. “What should we do all day?”

Lexa smiles that small, tucked away smile of hers, and reaches out again to pluck on one of Clarke's wet curls. "Get dry, for one thing," she says softly. With Clarke's hand in hers, she turns and pulls her towards the stairs. "And get warm, for another."

“Seems like one would naturally come from the other.” Clarke lets herself be led up to Lexa’s room. “Did you have something specific in mind?”

"Some soft towels, a warm fire..." Lexa looks over her shoulder at her. "Some _chocow_ sent up, perhaps?"

Clarke’s smile turns to a grin. “We can do that?”

"I don't know that it will be the best in the city, but it is indeed possible."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The latter half of this chapter was absolutely, definitely, in no way inspired by that one Turtleduckie comic from way back when. Except for that part where it totally was.


	6. Blanket Fort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nineteen chapters in and we've never had to make use of our back-up posting day. Until now.
> 
> ...can we make it up to you with smut?
> 
> TW: Explicit sexual content (oral, light bondage, blind folds)

When they reach Lexa's room, the fire is burning low - as though Elena or the other hands haven't had a chance to stoke it yet. Lexa takes it upon herself to do it, laying logs and poking them into place until the simmering embers roar back to life. Only then does she start to strip out of her wet clothes, removing them layer by layer right in front of its warmth.  
  
She stops at the lowest layer, a thin tank top that clings to her in its dampness and her leggings, and rings the bell on the wall to summon Elena. "Right," she then says to herself, and disappears into the bathroom, "towels."

Clarke, who watched Lexa peel her clothes off with unmasked appreciation, follows after her and grabs her hand. “Or...” she says, and pulls Lexa gently back around to face her. The tank top she wears is so thin, Clarke can see the curves of her abdominal muscles beneath it. “We could save the towels for later? I know it wouldn’t really solve the ‘wet’ problem, but it will certainly solve the cold one...” she cocks her head to the side, studying Lexa’s reaction. “How do you feel about taking a hot bath with me?”

Lexa's eyes go wide for a beat, and her cheeks turn pinker than the cold air had made them earlier. She glances back at the tub, the both of them on the threshold of the bathroom, and says, "A...bath?" She considers it a moment. "Do you think we'll comfortably fit?"

Clarke glances around Lexa at the tub and shrugs. “Why not? I think I have an idea. But we don’t have to, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

"It doesn't make me uncomfortable, just..." Lexa looks back at the tub, "skeptical."  
  
Nevertheless, when Elena arrives she asks for both food and hot water to be brought up, alongside a pot of _chocow_. The handmaid apparently implicitly understands the order those each should appear in, as the water arrives first.

Clarke strips her own shirt and pants off as soon as Elena leaves, anxious to be rid of the uncomfortable and somehow still freezing clothes, and makes quick work of her bra and underwear.  
  
As she tosses one item of clothing after another into the corner of the bathroom, she muses, “There’s almost too much water. We’re definitely going to make a mess.”  
  
Lexa is blinking at her, apparently having not moved since Elena left, when Clarke turns back to find her. “Come on,” Clarke grins and lowers herself - very slowly - into the hot water. She settles with her back against one short side of the tub and gestures in front of her. “We’ll just have to face the same way.”

The Commander continues to blink rapidly in response and looks away, a blush spreading clearly up her throat. "Of course," she says, and quickly strips away the rest of her clothes.  
  
It's clear from the way that Lexa moves that she's a little embarrassed by the idea, but she doesn't hesitate as she comes up to the side of the tub. She pulls her hair over one shoulder and, looking down at Clarke, says, "Should I...?"

Clarke licks her lips and swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. “Um... right. Yes, please.” Clarke is confident that the blush growing on her chest could be attributed to the heat of the water. Reasonably confident. “Trust me, it’ll be fine.”

For all her grace and balance on the training pitch, Lexa's transition into the bath is a little on the clumsy side. The hot water steams, and clouds with the oils and soaps that already scent it; Lexa must step carefully to avoid Clarke's legs. She slips a little in doing so, sending water sloshing over the side and drawing a laugh from them both as Clarke catches her by the arm.  
  
"Sorry," Lexa says, still chuckling as she balances herself against Clarke's shoulder. She brings her other foot in, and lowers herself carefully between Clarke's legs. She settles back against Clarke's chest and eyes the water now on the floor. "Make a mess, indeed," she mutters.

“Don’t worry about it.” Clarke adjusts a little behind Lexa and wraps her arms around her. Lexa lets Clarke pull them closer together and sighs as her muscles relax and she leans her weight back.  
  
They stay in that position for a minute or two, enjoying the heat of the bath and the closeness of their bodies. “How are you feeling?” Clarke whispers. She nuzzles into Lexa’s neck and places a kiss on her jaw. “This isn’t so bad, right?”

"Quite the contrary," Lexa hums in response, her eyes closed. She sinks back against Clarke, becoming heavier against her chest as she goes gradually more boneless. "This is lovely."  
  
The damp and cold that seemed to permeate Clarke's skin, resisting the attempts of the fire's warmth to drive it from her even after she had stripped out of her wet clothes, is drawn out by the bath water. Whatever oils Lexa uses to scent her bath are different from Clarke's choices, meaning the light floral scents she has become accustomed to have been replaced by something muskier, like pine needles and rain drenched Earth. With heat slowly sinking through the deepest parts of her and leaving her tingling, the scent that she has noted on Lexa's skin more than once filling her nose, and the woman herself a comfortable weight against her chest, Clarke all but forgets the storm brewing just outside the tower walls.  
  
"Do you often bathe with others in _Skaikru?"_ Lexa asks after a time, an idle question to break the silence. She doesn't open her eyes to ask it, but she does tip her head to one side, nudging Clarke's chin up a little so she could settle under it. The bath isn't quite long enough for her to stretch out the whole way, slumped against Clarke as she is, so her bare knees poke up out of the water. "Communally, I mean. Not necessarily like..."

“Hmm?” Clarke opens her eyes and blinks a few times. She’s so comfortable, she started to doze off. “Do we...?”  
  
Lexa’s question finally hits her and Clarke chuckles. “No, we don’t bathe communally. Platonically or otherwise. It just occurred to me that it might be nice.” She kisses the top of Lexa’s head. “I was pretty sure it would work, but not certain. Thank you for risking looking ridiculous with me.”

"Mm. I wasn't particularly worried about that. If we did look foolish, you would be the only one to witness it." Lexa tips her head up to nudge Clarke's chin. "And then I would have something on you."

“Something on me?” Clarke raises an eyebrow even as she turns her head down to meet Lexa’s lips. “You don’t have something on me already? I would think after spending this much time together you’d have come up with at least one or two things.”

Lexa chuckles against her lips. When the kiss ends, she looks up at her and says, "I suppose there is the fact that you twitch in your sleep."

Clarke opens her mouth for what might have been a retort, but as it is words seem to fail her. “I... what?”

The other woman nods sagely, as though she is confirming something that the ages have taught her. "I have been hit on more than one occasion," she says, and lifts her arm out of the water to demonstrate. "Right across the face, or sometimes in the stomach. You talk as well, on occasion, but that is generally less disruptive."

Clarke scoffs in disbelief. "I don't talk in my sleep!" Her face softens in the next instant, however, and she looks a little sheepish. "Have I really hit you?"

Lexa shifts to the side a little, just enough to make easier eye contact with Clarke. "It isn't hitting, per se," she says, and settles her hand on Clarke's neck. Her thumb sweeps a gentle arc against Clarke's skin. "More of a...flail, perhaps. Either way, it isn't an issue, my love."

A retort evaporates in Clarke’s throat at the familiar term. Instead of whatever she might’ve come up with, she kisses Lexa deeply instead. When she does finally release her, Clarke finally says, “Well...I’m glad you aren’t about to kick me out of bed. Especially considering you snore.”

That draws Lexa back, the look on her face one of such affront that one would think Clarke had insulted her favorite book. _Pride and Prejudice_ , Clarke supplies for herself - but she doesn't say this out loud. "I. Do not snore."

Clarke levels a look at her. “You snore. It’s mostly quiet and adorable, but you do snore.”

"Quiet? And adorable?" Lexa's eyebrows go up, but there's a pleased look in her eye. "What does that mean?"

“It’s just that it’s never very loud snores, it’s mostly...” Clarke turns her head a little from side to side, considering. “You sort of snort? But these soft, adorable little snorts...I honestly don’t know how to describe it. But I love it. Does that help?” Clarke half grins and shrugs, totally unsure how explaining to the ruler of the known universe that she snores will go.

In this case, it results in some grumbling in Trigedasleng as Lexa leans back to center, her hand dropping back into the water. "I do not snore," she mutters again, and wiggles back into Clarke's chest.

“Alright,” Clarke wraps her arms around Lexa as she leans back. “Whatever you say.”  
  
While this was never about getting clean, exactly, they _are_ in a bath. Eventually it occurs to Clarke to look for a sponge and soap, and she finds a little shelf next to the tub with both items. “Lean forward,” Clarke whispers, and nudges Lexa slightly. She’s pretty sure the Commander was falling asleep, if the little sounds she was making are any indication. “Just a little.”

"Hm? What?" The moment it takes Lexa to come back to the world is yet further indication, but she obediently sits forward even as she blinks.

Clarke shakes her head in amusement even as she lathers the bar of soap in her hands. The sponge is thick and just rough enough to be effective at cleaning dirt and grime from skin - otherwise it’s fairly soft and malleable. Clarke rubs the soap onto her hands into it and in a few seconds achieves the desired amount of suds.  
  
“I just think since we’re here...” Clarke kisses Lexa’s shoulder, earning a soft hum from the other woman, before placing the sponge in the same spot. Lexa stiffens a little beneath her, causing Clarke to move even more deliberately and slow as she draws the sponge down Lexa’s back. “We may as well actually get clean.”

"What an idea," Lexa says by way of agreement.  
  
At this point, Clarke is confident that she has mapped every inch of Lexa's skin. Neither of them have been particularly shy over the last few weeks, and the more familiar with each other they become the less any touch draws surprise from the other. But this is something else entirely. There has been plenty of opportunity to touch Lexa's back, to feel out its lines and valleys - but never in this way, never with such deliberateness. There's little question as to why Lexa would flinch at first, this kind of contact being so utterly foreign, but she relaxes again before long. Her head droops a little, her shoulders slump, and she makes little sounds of approval as Clarke moves the sponge over sensitive areas.  
  
As Lexa relaxes, Clarke finds herself freer to trace what patterns she sees fit across her back. Her deliberate touch is gradually replaced by one that is much more content to follow the curve of her shoulder blades, or the lines of her tattoos.

Clarke moves her fingers along the tattoo on Lexa's spine, traces the dark orbs and sharp angles of the design. She isn't afraid to ask Lexa about it again, exactly, but her reaction last time was enough to give Clarke pause. Lexa will tell her about it when she wants to, if she wants to. She moves on to the branches that peak around her side, bare but beautiful in their own right. Whoever tattoos Grounders, or at least the Commander, must be a skilled artist.  
  
Finally, she lands on the scars along Lexa's other side. There are aren't so many that she couldn't count them, but then... upon closer inspection, Clarke can see that here and there, they overlap. One scar cut across another. As if Lexa preferred they all remain in one place, even as that place became full. Clarke forgets about the sponge in her other hand, lost in thought. "You have so many of these," she muses.

Lexa doesn't open her eyes, but Clarke can see - and feel - the muscles in her neck and shoulders tense a little. She doesn't freeze or lock up, but there is life in her limbs where there hadn't been moments ago.  
  
"The Commander is responsible for a lot of lives," she says quietly.

"More than this, I would think." Clarke wraps her hand gently around Lexa's waist, covering the scars with her palm and pulling Lexa back against her. She settles back, allowing Clarke's hand holding the sponge easy access to her chest. Clarke waits until Lexa's shoulders fully relax again before asking, "What made you stop getting them?"

"My Ascension Day." Lexa lays her head back against Clarke's shoulder, tipped to one side so that Clarke has better access. She opens her eyes now, but just barely; just enough to look aimlessly at the ceiling. "If I were to record the death of every warrior I have been responsible for, or of every one that has died for me..."

"You'd be covered in these," Clarke finishes for her, and Lexa nods. Sometimes Clarke forgets that the peace they've found in the past few weeks can't possibly last. Winter will end eventually, and the reality of this world is far harsher than the little honeymoon they've created for themselves. Lexa is constantly in danger, whether they're here in Polis or elsewhere, and there's nothing Clarke can do to change that. Her stomach sinks at the thought.

"The Coalition may be tenuous, but the peace it has brought is real. Our battles against the Sky People..." Lexa's lips crook upwards in the slightest of smirks as she amends, "against _you,_ were some of the worst fighting we've seen in years. But that was not true when I was younger. The Nightbloods of my generation saw many battles before my previous life ended."

"You were allowed to fight, even as Nightbloods?" Clarke frowns, but this time at the idea of Ronnie being in danger. "That seems like an odd thing, risking the Nightbloods' lives. Since only one of them could become the next Commander."

Lexa shrugs one shoulder, so as not to dislodge Clarke or interrupt her ministrations. "Those of us who died were not to be chosen," she says, and the words are almost surprisingly off-hand. "Only one can bear the flame."

Clarke nuzzles into Lexa's neck, just below her ear. The Commander's heartbeat pulses against her nose, strong as ever. "I guess that's a good attitude to have, given the price of becoming Commander."

They sit like that for a moment, both quietly aware of the small details of the other - of their heartbeat, of their breath. Then Lexa lifts her head, one of her hands taking the sponge from Clarke's hand. "I can't reach you from here," she says, looking at it.

Clarke chuckles at the helplessness in Lexa's voice. "We can attempt to switch... but I would just accept that water will be everywhere, if we do."

"Mm." Lexa's nose wrinkles. "I think I have a better idea."  
  
She takes a few minutes to wash her own hair, sinking down into the water to wet her hair once and then again. Each time the water level rises dangerously, but most of it stays in the tub, fresh soap floating on its surface.  
  
At that point Lexa carefully stands and climbs out of the tub. She dries herself off with a towel, hair and body still mostly damp but no longer dripping, and then turns to look at Clarke. She puts a hand out, motioning for the sponge. "May I?"

Clarke hesitates, but only for a moment before handing over the sponge. She had to stop herself from following after Lexa when she stepped out of the tub, and even now her hands itch to reach out and touch her. “What exactly is your idea?”

"Just this."  
  
Lexa takes the sponge and kneels behind the short end of the tub. Though she's not in the water with her, she's in the same position Clarke was when washing her - and she kisses the top of Clarke's head as she reaches over her shoulders to dip the sponge in the water. "See?" She hums. "No mess."

“I don’t really mind messes...” Clarke’s voice drifts off as Lexa’s hands gently move over her skin. Her back was supporting a lot of their weight, and between Lexa leaning on her and the unforgiving surface of porcelain, Clarke’s muscles practically melt beneath Lexa’s fingers.

Lexa chuckles. "Because it's not your room," she says.  
  
It is probably not the most thorough bathing Clarke has ever had - they get distracted more than once, and the water begins to chill - but she is feeling warm and loose by the time she decides to climb from the tub. With wet hair hanging against her shoulders and chest, she stands dripping until Lexa can hand her a fresh towel.

Lexa, on the other hand, is nearly dry at this point. She gives Clarke a kiss on the cheek before heading back into the bedroom, presumably to grab clothes.  
  
Clarke is absolutely soaking wet - and once again cold. She quickly dries herself off and takes some time to wring out and dry her hair before wrapping herself in the towel. She doesn’t need it, it occurs to her, for any type of modesty. They’re well beyond modesty at this point. But it does help to combat the cool air that’s suddenly far more noticeable outside of a steaming hot tub.  
  
“So what are we going to do all day? I hope you aren’t planning to throw me to the ambassadors, because I honestly think I’d rather risk my neck in the sn—“ Clarke walks back into Lexa’s room and comes up short at the scene in front of her. The furniture near the fireplace has been moved slightly...almost haphazardly, it seems, and Lexa is in the midst of stripping the bed of its covers and adding them to an already extremely high pile of blankets. “What are you doing?”

"What we're doing all day," Lexa answers unhelpfully. She tugs at one of the thick blankets until it and the furs on top of it spill onto the ground. "Help me with this."  
  
They dress quickly and transfer the pile of coverings - and eventually, pillows - into the other room. Elena appears while they're in the midst of moving the low table out from between the couch and chairs, and then turning those so their backs face each other. Rather than ask questions however, she moves around the industrious Lexa and confused Clarke to set their requested food down and hang a pot of _chocow_ over the fire. By the time she leaves again, Clarke has had enough of the mystery.

“Alright, what is all of this? What exactly do you have planned for this mess?” She clearly emphasizes the last word.

"Mess?" Lexa answers, affronted. She wears the soft pants and tank top combo that Clarke has become so familiar with as her preferred pajama set - though the black robe that she usually wears over it is missing. That is instead wrapped around Clarke, who perches herself on a chair arm and raises an eyebrow at the Commander. "This is not a _mess_." She lays out the animal skin she was holding across the floor between the backwards furniture. "It is the foundation of a great installation."

Clarke looks skeptically at the oddly placed furniture. “Okay...”  
  
But then, the details of what Lexa is doing take hold in her mind. Turning the chairs around so their highest points face each other, collecting blankets...  
  
“Are you making a...I don’t know. A tent? Out of chairs and blankets?”

A smile lights up Lexa's face. She leaves off situating the skins just so, and picks up one of the blankets instead. "Here - get that pile of books for me?"  
  
She drapes one end of the blanket between the chairs, anchored on each by a small pile of heavy books on the chairs' seats. They then repeat the process on the other side, stretching the blanket across the distance between chairs and sofa back. A second blanket Lexa lays over just one chair and the couch, letting most of its weight fall across the far side of the low table, a barrier between the door and the rest of the newly cordoned off space.  
  
"It's a blanket fort," she says at last, disappearing into the bedroom only to reappear a second later with a pile of pillows in her arms. She ducks under the raised end of the blanket, an opening to the little tent that faces the fire, and begins to situate them among the skins. "We used to do this sometimes when we were younger, on days like this. They would be much larger and more complicated in the barracks, obviously, but your sleeping arrangements in your room had me thinking..."

“That you could make me a bed even as I insist on not sleeping in one?” Clarke teases, but a surge of affection fills her at the idea. That sounds like exactly something Lexa would do.

"Well... not a bed," Lexa says sheepishly. She stops what she's doing and looks up at Clarke, cross-legged and tipped a little to the side so she can see Clarke around the blanket roof. Though there's a little blush on her face, she gestures at the structure and corrects, "It's a fort."

Clarke grins and joins Lexa inside. There’s a surprising amount of room once she’s situated on the floor, and the furs and pillows Lexa arranged are comfortable. Even more comfortable than her own makeshift nest in her room.  
  
“A fort. Right.” Clarke sighs and lies back on one of the many piles of pillows, the loose tie of the robe revealing more of her chest and neckline than her usual henleys might. “Well this is the most comfortable fort I’ve ever experienced. And without other Nightbloods around, I doubt we have to worry about coming under attack.”

"Thankfully, that's true." Lexa falls on her side beside Clarke, her elbow propping up her weight. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the exposed skin is almost immediately too much for her to resist; Lexa's hand lifts, and begins to draw light patterns across Clarke's collarbone and the section of skin exposed below it. "This is not the most structurally sound of fortresses, blanket-based or otherwise."

“It seems perfect to me.” Clarke sighs and closes her eyes. She could lie here and feel Lexa’s fingers move over her skin all day. In fact, it occurs to her that that’s a possibility. The idea that Lexa truly has no responsibilities to attend to today, or at least has elected to ignore them, really hits her. Does she actually have Lexa all to herself? For an _entire_ _day_? “What does one do in a blanket fort, then?” she asks.

"A few things," Lexa hums in return. Clarke can feel her eyes following her fingers, especially as they run under the edge of the robe's neckline. "We have more options than most Nightbloods would, I imagine."

Clarke raises an eyebrow without opening her eyes. “Are you referring to the books, or to the fact that I’m here with you? Because I imagine a bunch of young Nightbloods, left to their own devices in a blanket fort...” Clarke does open her eyes then and grins. “So what exactly did you have in mind?”

She's just in time to catch the little roll of the eyes Lexa has in response to that, and her exploring hand ceases its movement. Instead she presses her palm to that smooth expanse exposed on Clarke's chest, just below her collarbone and just above her heart.  
  
"We do have plenty of books to read, if that interests us," she says, "and we have food, and _chocow_. And if any of that starts to bore us..." Lexa's hair, still a little damp, falls over her shoulders as she bends to place a soft kiss on Clarke's lips. "We are left to our own devices. You have me for the day; we can do whatever we wish."

Clarke kisses her again, harder, and sighs. “That is the best news I’ve heard in...I don’t know, maybe a year.” As if on cue, Clarke’s stomach growls. “Maybe we should start with food.”

"Mm." Lexa's hand smooths downwards, parting the robe ever so slightly. The loose knot holds - technically - but Clarke's stomach is now partially exposed, allowing Lexa to place a kiss there. "As you wish."  
  
The lunch Elena brought them isn't the heartiest, but it more than serves their purposes for now. Fresh bread waits for them, along with a soft cheese - a little stinky to Clarke's nose - some thinly sliced smoked meat, and dried fruit. Lexa retrieves it and a pitcher of that same lightly flavored water Clarke first experienced weeks ago, and brings them both into the fort with them.

The food takes just minutes to disappear - they were both hungrier than they thought. Lexa carefully wraps a piece of cheese into the last slice of smoked meat and places it gently on a piece of bread. The particular care with which Lexa crafts this one bite of food amuses Clarke, but instead of teasing her she elects to leave the blanket fort in search of a book.  
  
Nearly all of Lexa's books are now being used as anchors, so sifting through them proves challenging. Clarke had left her translated copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ in Lexa's room a few days ago and easily finds it in the stacks. She also grabs one or two others that look promising, and the few books that Lexa requests - with her mouth full, naturally - she fetch for her while she's up. By the time Clarke is able to crawl back under the blankets, a near mountain of books in hand, Lexa has moved the remains of their lunch around a flap of blanket and up onto the other, unused side of the table.

Selecting their chosen books from the pile, both women settle in to read. It isn't unlike that first stolen day, their trip to the library: the fire is warm, the space is quiet, and they are both soon engrossed in their books. Unlike that day however, there is no hesitation when it comes to sharing personal space. Gone is the Lexa who froze at the mere suggestion that they share a blanket; she now rests her head on Clarke's stomach, her book balanced against her knees, and tipping into Clarke's touch whenever she makes casual contact as they read.

Clarke threads her fingers absently through the waves of Lexa's hair, occasionally resting her hand on her collarbone or shoulder, sometimes tracing the side of her jaw or curve of her ear. She barely notices herself doing it, until Lexa shivers a little at one such touch and Clarke's attention snaps back to her.  
  
"Are you ticklish?" Clarke asks, in slight disbelief.

Lexa's eyes flash from her book up to Clarke, and then immediately back. "Of course not."

Clarke's hand is still resting just below Lexa's ear. With the same lightness to her touch that she'd employed a few moments ago, she brushes her fingers down Lexa's neck. The Commander's neck tenses and her shoulder moves up just slightly of its own accord, as if to block Clarke's hand from moving any further. Clarke chuckles. "No? Not ticklish at all, huh?"

"That was a flinch," Lexa assures her, and knocks Clarke's hand away.

"I'm sorry," Clarke can't help a smile from spreading across her face even as she attempts to keep her voice serious, "the Commander would rather admit to flinching than to being a little ticklish?"

"A twitch, then," Lexa says, and wiggles away from Clarke. Now lying parallel to her on the ground, Lexa ensures there's a few inches of space between them. "Whatever you like."

Clarke laughs and ignores Lexa’s attempt to move away from her. She scoots down farther onto the ground and turns her body to be perpendicular to Lexa’s. She jostles Lexa’s arm, and therefore book, over as she determinedly scoots her head up onto her chest. “Whatever you say.”

"Mmhm." Lexa doesn't make it easier for her, but she also doesn't stop her from snuggling in. And when Clarke does, she switches the book to her opposite hand and rests her arm over Clarke's chest and shoulders.  
  
They stay like that a while longer, Lexa's fingers trailing lightly up and down Clarke's exposed breastbone. Outside the sky grows darker and the wind picks up, driving snow past the window and down over the city. But here, in their blanket fort, they're warm and safe.  
  
When their eyes get tired and their bodies a little restless, Lexa sits up to ladle a portion of _chocow_ into a mug for each of them.  
  
"Have you had Tera's _chocow_ before?" She asks, pressing one mug until Clarke's hand. The drink has been sitting over the fire for some time now, and is nice and warm to the touch.

“I haven’t, and I’m sure it’s amazing,” Clarke blows on the top of the cup in a vain attempt at cooling the liquid down, “but I’m having a hard time imagining anything beating the _chocow_ I had in the market the other day.”

"That is what Helena says," Lexa chuckles. She sits next to Clarke, holding her own mug between her hands. "You'll have to let me know."

Clarke purses her lips and takes a careful sip from her cup. At first it tastes like nothing but thick, liquid heat, but after the second sip flavor begins to come through. And if possible, it tastes even more fantastic than the first time.  
  
A sound unlike any Clarke has ever made makes its way from her throat - something between a groan and a purr, with a bit of an _mmmm_ mixed in. “Damn, that’s good,” she mumbles between sips. “I don’t know if it’s better or if I just forgot how incredible melted chocolate is, but either way I love it.”

Lexa starts laughing immediately at the sound, all while blowing over the top of her own cup to cool it. "I'm glad you think so! It always seemed like the ideal snowstorm treat to me. It's warm, it's sweet..."

Clarke cuddles up beside Lexa, the cup of hot chocolate held between both hands. “It’s perfect. Just like this fort, and this day. What exactly does everyone else think the Commander is doing today? I assume you didn’t have Elena tell them that you’re drinking _chocow_ and curled up with...” she struggles for a word. They hadn’t really discussed what they are to each other, because they haven’t had to. They both just know. But ‘just knowing’ doesn’t exactly come with an identifying label. “...me,” she ultimately decides on, “all day.”

"No," Lexa chuckles. Holding her cup in one hand, she puts the other on the ground behind Clarke and leans her weight against it. With her arm effectively around Clarke's back, this means leaning very much into her space. "No, I didn't.  
  
"There has been a general moratorium on work when storms hit for as long as I can remember. It isn't official - I don't know that anyone enacted it or ever actually enforced it - but it means no one questions it when this official or that representative is not available. So I did not provide a reason. I said only that I was not seeing anyone today."

"And I suppose _Heda_ doesn't have to provide a reason, in either case," Clarke muses. "Can I assume Ronnie and the other Nightbloods are busy making blanket forts of their own?"

"It's possible," Lexa shrugs. "I did not teach them to do so, but one of the Flamekeepers might have hinted at such an activity. They are the only continuity between Conclaves, apart from the Flame itself.  
  
"It is also possible that they came upon the idea themselves, I suppose," she adds, and looks at Clarke with a grin. "They are a bright group of young people."

"They are," Clarke agrees, and takes a sip - more of a swig, in truth - from her cup. "Even the little ones are incredible, and I don't mean just at fighting. Though I'm sure even the smallest one could still beat me up."

Lexa pretends to weigh that before saying, "Yes, probably."

Clarke laughs. "I appreciate you not immediately agreeing. I accept that I have other skills. Like diplomacy, and snowball fighting."

"Snow tackling, more like," Lexa teases, and bumps Clarke's shoulder with hers. "You don't throw very well."

Clarke smacks her on the shoulder, lightly. "I can throw, how dare you! I just elected to delegate. It was good practice for Kita to lead our stalwart troops into battle. Besides, I still managed to get the Commander to play with us. Who else can say that?"

The Commander laughs again, rocking a little backwards as though from the force of the blow. Clarke sees her eyes flash down to her lips and back up. "Very few," she admits fondly, and leans in to steal a soft, quick kiss. Against her lips, she says, quite seriously, "You're special, Clarke."

"So are you," Clarke whispers back, "and I don't mean because you were chosen by the Flame. You're special to me." Clarke shrugs, suddenly a little self conscious at appearing to compare the two. "Whatever that's worth."

"The value of that may shift from person to person," Lexa says, and she's smiling again. The look in her eyes has slipped right into sheer adoration, and she continues to hold Clarke's gaze as she tips her forehead against hers. "But it means everything to me."

Clarke can feel her cheeks warm at the emotion in Lexa's voice. It's easy enough to capture Lexa's mouth with her own. They feel soft and gentle, but not fragile - like Lexa is thinking about every second that their lips are touching. Or maybe it's that Clarke is.  
  
When they do break apart Clarke sighs happily, only partially to regain oxygen. "I don't know how you do that," she thinks aloud, "with your voice. How you can sound so...gentle, I guess, one moment and commanding the next."

Lexa is immediately embarrassed, her eyes dropping self-consciously and a little warmth coming to her face. "Does it do that?" She asks, but it sounds as though the words come out of their own accord - for lack of something better to say. "Not often quite that quickly, I imagine."

Clarke chuckles and kisses Lexa lightly on the cheek. "No, not all that quickly. But sometimes it does strike me, the difference between the Lexa everyone else knows and my Lexa. I'm a fan of both, for the record."

That does much to mollify Lexa's embarrassment, but her expression remains sheepish even as she says, "I will be sure to remind you of that when you're annoyed with the former Lexa because she told you no."

Clarke waves her hand dismissively. “I’ll just convince you that you mean yes.” She snuggles further into Lexa’s arm and rests her head half on her shoulder, half on her chest. “Besides, there’s something about the way that you sound, when you’re...I don’t know. When you’re ‘commanding,’ or whatever. I would almost be upset if I never heard it.”

Lexa bends to drop a kiss on the top of her head, and Clarke can feel the small smile she wears against her hair. "You enjoy hearing me yell at people?"

“I wouldn’t say it’s a yell. More of a...” Clarke sips her drink again as she ponders, and is sad to find that it’s already more lukewarm than hot. “It’s actually the opposite,” she tries again, “more like a normal volume than a yell. It’s just the way you say things. When you expect everyone to obey you. I don’t know what it is. You don’t yell, but you may as well be. Does that make sense?” Clarke turns her head back and kisses the underside of Lexa’s chin before she can respond. “Either way, it’s hot and I like it."

Whatever response Lexa was about to give stops in her throat. She does her best to look down at Clarke, utter bafflement in her eyes, and says, "It's...hot?"

“It’s absolutely hot,” Clarke nods sagely, but stops mid-nod when she realizes Lexa’s confusion. “Is that slang that Grounders have? Hot?”

"I assume from the context that you do not mean literal temperature."

Clarke means to laugh, and she does, but she’s also so amused that she snorts. “I do not. Though you do run particularly hot temperature-wise as well.” The look of bafflement, if anything, deepens in Lexa’s eyes. “‘Hot’ is slang for sexy.”

Clarity settles swiftly and clearly behind Lexa's eyes then, and her face warms again. But despite the blush, when Lexa looks into the distance it's with contemplation, rather than embarrassment. This is evidently a new concept for the Commander. "Ah," she says, somewhat absently, and sips her _chocow_. "I see."

Clarke shifts such that she’s sitting up on her own and able to turn fully to see Lexa’s face. “Why do you sound like you’re thinking?”

Lexa shakes her head. "I'm not thinking," she answers - even as she continues to stare into the middle distance and sip her drink.

“Don’t lie to me, _Leksa kom Trikru_.” Clarke purses her lips in an almost-frown. “I’d recognize that thinking face from a mile away.”

That small, tucked away smile crooks one corner of her lips up around the edge of her cup. When her eyes return to Clarke's, they hold her gaze a moment before they drop to her forgotten book. "What have you been reading, anyway?"

Clarke blinks a few times before registering Lexa’s question, and when she does her almost-frown turns into a full one. “It’s the sequel to _The Lord of the Rings_ , called _The Two Towers._ ”

"Ah," Lexa says again, nodding. She eyes the cover. "I never made it through those. They're quite long."

Clarke scoots over a little until she’s fully supported by her own pillows, her drink in one hand and her book in the other. As she flips the book open to the page she’s marked she says, “I wouldn’t have pegged you for someone who balks at a challenge.”

That draws Lexa's attention _real_ quick, and her eyebrows go up. "I'm sorry?"

Clarke looks back up, her expression all innocence. “You can’t have given up reading them just because they’re too long. If you had, that would be very inconsistent with the Lexa I’m familiar with.”

"Clarke," Lexa says evenly, "put the book down."

Clarke arches an eyebrow, but very pointedly continues reading.

"Clarke," Lexa says again, and this time Clarke's hair stands on the back of her neck. Her voice has not risen in volume - if anything, it's almost quieter - but it has that quality to it that seems to bend the Earth to its will. Clarke looks up to find green eyes, intense and laser-focused, watching her. Lexa sets her cup on the ground. "Put. The book. Down."

Clarke frowns, but at this point curiosity has won out over stubbornness. She slowly lowers the book, eyebrow still raised. "Yes?"

Lexa must interpret this as skepticism; the expression on her face falters, the intensity fading from her eyes as she drops her gaze. Her voice returns to its normal timber. "I do not back down from a challenge," she says, the words somewhat disjointed from her current expression.

It takes Clarke a moment to understand what exactly is happening here, but when she does her expression softens - and her stomach flips in anticipation. "Are you sure?" Clarke puts her own cup down. She presses a little closer to Lexa, twines their legs together as she says, "That didn't sound very confident. Try it again."

A beat, and then Lexa looks up without moving her head. Raising an eyebrow, her voice finds something close to the authority and threat it just had when she says, "You test me."

"'Test' seems like a strong word." Clarke turns back to her book and takes her time finding the page she'd been on before as she continues, "I only thought you had more conviction. But if not, there's no shame in admitting there are some challenges you won't meet..."

"Enough." There it is. Lexa's expression isn't exactly the same as the one she usually wears when she makes these kinds of commands, and her voice isn't exactly the same either. There is just enough of a difference to tell Clarke that the severity isn't real, that it's an affectation for her own benefit. But that is the only difference, and the force of it remains intact. "Leave the book."

A shiver tingles through Clarke's body at the intensity in Lexa's voice. She finds her bookmark, purposefully slowly, and slips it between the pages before setting the book aside. At no point does she take her eyes off Lexa and though her expression never changes, anticipation creeps up her spine.

"I don't much appreciate you challenging me like this," Lexa continues, holding Clarke's gaze. Self-consciousness wavers behind her eyes for just a second, but her voice maintains. "And I've grown bored of books. I think perhaps we should play a game."

Clarke can't quite help the surprise from showing on her face. "What kind of game?"

Lexa tips her chin towards the pillows behind Clarke. "Lay back."  
  
For a beat, Clarke can only look at her. But the uncertainty is born of the novelty of the moment rather than the action, and she slowly lowers herself onto the pile. As she does, Lexa moves from where she's sitting to crawl up Clarke's body.  
  
"The kind of game," she says then, stopping when she's face to face with Clarke again. "Where I give you an order, and you obey. Understand?"

Clarke's body instantly responds to Lexa's, instantly conforming so that they're touching as much as possible. She hums, considering, and wraps her arms around Lexa's neck. "And what happens if I don't obey?"

"Simple." Lexa leans down as though to kiss her, her nose dragging against Clarke's - but at the last second, she pulls back. "You disobey, and I stop."

Clarke growls as Lexa pulls just out of reach. "I don't know if you understand the concept of games. In a game, someone wins."

"And if you follow the rules, you win," Lexa answers with a shrug. She doesn't quite sit back, but she puts her weight on her knees to free her hands. Her shrug has dislodged Clarke's hold on her slightly, and the Commander closes one hand around either of her forearms. "If you do not, I get to torture you until you do. Which I count as a win for me."

"Torture me?" A smirk peeks out from the corner of Clarke's mouth. "Alright, I'm intrigued. What are your orders?"

Lexa pushes her arms back, pressing them up and over Clarke's head into the pillows behind her. "For starters," she says, her voice dropping to a murmur that somehow retains that commanding quality, "Don't move these. If either of your hands comes below your head, I will stop."

Clarke takes a deep breath, already uncertain of her ability to keep her hands to herself, much less in one place. "I'll do my best."

"I should hope so."  
  
Lexa releases Clarke's hands then, and pulls her own back to prop herself up at either side of Clarke's shoulders. When Clarke's hands don't move, she smirks. "Good," she says, and rewards Clarke with the previously withheld kiss.  
  
The embrace is fleeting; every time Clarke attempts to deepen the kiss, Lexa pulls back just a bit to keep it light. With her hands stuck above her head Clarke can't catch her and hold her in place, even as the desire to kiss her, really kiss her, mounts. Already her frustration grows.  
  
She isn't allowed to feel it for long however, as Lexa soon robs her of the possibility altogether. She pulls away from Clarke's lips to instead pepper kisses along her jaw and down her neck - and these, of course, are full and lingering, intermixed with little bites and flicks of Lexa's tongue.

Clarke whimpers. The inability to move her hands or arms - or rather, the threat of retaliation if she does - sets her heart racing even faster than usual. Her skin feels more sensitive too, and every shift of Lexa's hips or graze of her clothes on Clarke's exposed skin makes her shiver.  
  
Lexa reaches her collarbone and continues her infuriatingly attentive ministrations. Clarke's hands itch to wrap around her neck and bring her lips back where she wants them, and she makes a frustrated sound in the back of her throat. But so far she resists moving.

"What was that, my love?" Lexa asks against her skin, not even pausing in the trail she's laying. Pushing her weight on to one hand, she brushes the fingertips of the other in a light, straight line down Clarke's sternum, between the part of the robe...and when they reach the robe's silken belt and its loosely tied knot, they just keep going. The knot falls away with little resistance, as though it hadn't been there in the first place.

Clarke's fists grip the pillows beneath them with increasing strength. Her robe falls open easily, leaving her chest almost entirely exposed. And "exposed" is the right word - she feels somehow more exposed now, with her arms more or less trapped above her head, than she ever has before. "It does feel like," Clarke breathes, fighting to keep the strain out of her voice, "you have the advantage in this game."

Deliberately - and almost casually - slow, Lexa lifts one side of the robe up and over Clarke's breast, then does the same with the other. With the thin material pooled on either side of her, leaving even less covering than a moment ago, Lexa is free to dip her head to Clarke's breasts.  
  
"I never said I didn't," Lexa answers, and catches a nipple in her mouth.

Tension surges down Clarke's arms as she struggles to keep them in place. Each time she even so much as inhales, her chest moves closer to Lexa - and the other woman wastes not even one opportunity to pull first one of Clarke's nipples and then the other deeper into her mouth. Her breathing becomes labored until she's practically panting, and even then Lexa never wavers in her attentiveness. It feels like several minutes but it could be any amount of time for all Clarke knows, when Lexa's teeth suddenly come together in a bite - and Clarke can't stop her hands from flying down to grip Lexa's shoulders.

The Commander turns to stone beneath her.  
  
The change is sudden but complete; Lexa lets go of her nipple, and ceases all other movements. She doesn't even look up, just says in that low, dangerous voice: "...Clarke."

Clarke's stomach flips at the sound. An odd combination of desperation and pride make her hesitate for several seconds before she finally pries her fingers from Lexa's skin. Lexa does look up at her then, her eyes like green steel, and Clarke slowly raises her arms back above her head.

"I expected more from you," Lexa says lowly, but it's clear from the context that she's merely goading her. She dips her head and leaves a particularly sharp bite on one of Clarke's nipples. "For one so willful, you buckled so quickly."

Clarke bites back a groan. Instead she grips the pillows above her tighter. "I gave you a second chance," she manages to get out. "Seems only fair that you return the favor."

"Fine." Lexa soothes the bitten spot with a few strokes of her tongue. "But disobey me again and there will be consequences."  
  
She picks up where she left off, occupying her mouth with one breast while her hand entertains the other, being neither particularly slow nor particularly subtle in her attempts to tease Clarke. Once Clarke's back starts to arch again, pressing up into Lexa, the latter runs her hand down Clarke's side. She feels out the shifting muscle each time she strains, and presses into the sensitive divot on the inside of her hip bone when Clarke pushes just a little too far.  
  
Toeing the careful line between what Lexa is prescribing and what she can contain, Clarke earns herself the first taste of what she has been unable to stop thinking about: the brush of a long, calloused finger against her clit.

Clarke's entire body shudders at that first touch alone. The muscles in her arms, up until now only partially tensed, fully strain against the grip of her own hands.  
  
"Lexa, please..." Clarke doesn't have the faculties to continue that thought, incomplete as it is. She doesn't even know what she would say if she could manage it, she just desperately _needs_.

"Now that..." Lexa rumbles, that voice now deep in her throat. She runs her tongue over Clarke's nipple again, and her finger extends to run the length of her damp opening. It dips in, just a little, and gathers some of that dampness on her way back up. "Is more like it. What is it you want, Clarke?"

Clarke can hear her own blood pounding in her ears, but it does nothing to drown out the cadence of Lexa's voice. She's always been impressed by it - Lexa's uncanny ability to sound calm, even quiet, and at the same time utterly commanding. But she's never been affected by it in quite this way. Even just a simple question sounds like a direct order, and it sends Clarke's mind fumbling for words.  
  
"I want..." Clarke's mouth feels simultaneously dry and thick. She swallows and tries again. "Baby, please. Please fuck--" Lexa presses against Clarke's clit with surprising and sudden force and before Clarke can think, her hands are gripping Lexa's back, her fingernails digging into the bones of her shoulder blades.

Lexa at least finishes the motion before stopping, her finger running up and then back down Clarke's clit. But then she stops once more and, without a word, sits back on her legs. Her hands fall motionless into her lap, and she looks up at Clarke with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"Thank you for answering," she says, "but we had an agreement."

Clarke's hands move loosely to rest on Lexa's hips. "We did," she agrees, a little begrudgingly. For a moment, she weighs the possibility of convincing Lexa to keep going - but one look at her expression eliminates that idea. Her eyes aren't harsh or angry, as she's seen them before, but they are still unrelenting. Compromise, Clarke is sure, is utterly out of the question.  
  
Clarke sighs and closes her eyes. She does her best to seal her pride away, somewhere in a dark corner of her mind, and asks, "How can I make it up to you?"

Despite her previous threats, Lexa's eyes cast about in search of something else to impose on her - belaying, no doubt, the novelty of this 'game' to her. But those eyes alight on something close to Clarke's side, and Lexa beckons to her. "Sit up."  
  
Clarke does, the robe falling from her shoulders and down her arms in the process. Lexa reaches into the pool of black and pulls; the robe's tie comes away in her hands, long, soft, and - most importantly, as Clarke is about to find out - opaque.  
  
"If this has been too much stimulation for you," Lexa says, taking the length of the belt between her hands, "perhaps it would help to reduce other sources of distraction. Hold still." She then sits up on her knees and, for one moment that quietly breaks the tension, presses Clarke's hands into her hips with her own, encouraging her to keep hold of her as she does. And then she begins to carefully tie the belt around her eyes.

Not only is it opaque but it’s also wide, meaning any hope Clarke had of being able to see slightly below or above the tie are completely dashed. By the time Lexa has finished, Clarke can’t see a thing.  
  
Clarke grips Lexa’s hips. Her breathing doesn’t calm, if anything her breaths become shorter - along with an increasing heart rate. An unexpected flash of panic courses through her and it feels all too familiar. She takes a few seconds to focus on her breathing and calm herself down. It doesn’t take long, thankfully - Lexa doesn’t move away from her and she lets Clarke run her thumbs over her hip bones, as if she knows Clarke needs a moment to adjust.  
  
“Okay...” Clarke breathes, and is pleased to hear that her voice is even. “This is new.”

When the knot is tied, Lexa's hands settle first on Clarke's shoulders. When her fingers grip tight and she speaks however, those same hands hold Clarke's head between them, and Lexa presses a kiss to the top of her head. In her normal voice, gentle and unaffected, she asks against her hair, "Is this alright?"

Clarke nods and exhales, instantly reassured at the sound of Lexa's voice. "Yes, I'm fine." She takes Lexa's hands in her own and kisses them before letting them go. "Besides, I owe you." She would wink, but she hopes the grin she can feel spread across her face is reassuring enough.

"You owe me nothing," that same voice says against her hair. "Take it off if you need, and if you want to stop then tell me. We can find a different game to play."

"You know I would tell you if I didn't want to. Are you chickening out?" Clarke leans back on her hands in a position that, she is extremely confident, shows off any and all positive aspects of her upper body. "Now that you have me, apparently, where you want me? That does seem to contradict the whole purpose of this exercise."

She hears Lexa sigh. "And here I was trying to be nice," she says. Clarke feels a hand press right between her collar bones, and then she's shoved backwards onto the pillows behind her.  
  
Losing the ability to see what is happening and what is about to happen is a strange experience; she can feel Lexa's weight shift, but doesn't know where or why - until she feels her hands wrap around her wrists, pushing them back above her head again.  
  
"Now don't move," Lexa says, the demanding tone of voice returning. Clarke can feel her breath against her skin, warm and close. And then her lips are pressed to hers in the firm, fierce kiss that Clarke has been yearning for this entire time.

Clarke doesn’t try to stop the relieved sigh from escaping her lips when Lexa does finally break away. But, as she does, she’s reminded of the situation she’s willingly put herself in - and grips the pillows behind her with already stiff fingers. As much as she’s enjoying this, she is not about to give Lexa a reason to relieve her of another of her senses.

"Well done, Clarke," that voice says quietly, the words spoken against her neck. "Keep going, and you will be rewarded."  
  
Lexa moves quicker now, clearly eager to get back to where they were. She spends much less time on Clarke's neck and shoulders and collarbone, but it becomes quickly apparent that she doesn't need to; Clarke's body is more than happy to pick up where they left off, and with each new kiss or bite a surprise, the reaction they draw is much more intense. The muscles in her arms start to strain again, and she begins to fidget beneath Lexa's ministrations.  
  
She does, that is, until she feels Lexa's weight lift off her entirely. The room is bright with firelight, she knows that, but it is all but pitch black beneath her blindfold, and the hard floor beneath them means she doesn't even have a shifting mattress to betray the other woman's movements. For all she knows, Lexa is halfway across the room right now. But that's not true...she can't feel her, but she can hear her shifting somewhere in front of her, maybe between her legs--  
  
The question is put to rest as soon as she feels the first of a number of strokes of Lexa's tongue against her clit.

Clarke’s hips buck beneath her, but Lexa holds them firmly in place. If anything she spreads Clarke’s legs wider, gaining better access to her center. Lexa takes her time, as always, and it’s all Clarke can do not to beg Lexa to fuck her harder.  
  
A particularly strong swirl of Lexa’s tongue makes Clarke gasp — and then it stops. She can’t feel Lexa at all anymore.  
  
“Clarke.”  
  
The word reverberates through Clarke’s body. Despite its commanding nature, Lexa’s voice had had an element of gentleness to it - up until now. Now it’s laced with something almost like danger, a warning all but yelled aloud through that one word. It makes Clarke’s heart rate skyrocket.  
  
Her hands are close to moving below her head, she realizes, and quickly adjusts. She threads her fingers through the soft fabric of pillows and blankets and stretches her arms back - and keeps them there, utterly tense but securely above her head.  
  
For a moment she worries that Lexa won’t continue. She still can’t feel her, though she can hear her moving. “Good,” Lexa suddenly breathes, and exhales against Clarke’s clit. Clarke whimpers at the loss of contact and just as she does, Lexa inserts a finger deep inside Clarke and sucks her clit into her mouth. The whimper turns into a loud, desperate moan.

Though Clarke writhes, Lexa persists. Dauntless as ever she fucks her slowly, a single finger moving at an even, rhythmic pace in time with her tongue so as to hit her clit from both sides at the same time. But as the tension mounts and Clarke stays where she's told, she gets what she wants: the rhythm increases and a second finger is added, reaching deeper and pressing harder. She feels fingers clamp down on her side, digging into the soft space inside her hip bone, holding her down as she pushes her hips forward, pushing herself onto Lexa's fingers again and again until--  
  
"Clarke--" gasps Lexa around her clit, just a second, just a moment, in her normal voice--

And Clarke comes utterly undone. An orgasm rushes through her body. Her back arches and she loses whatever control she had over her hands - one grips the blankets around her and the other finds the leg of the table next to them. Lexa either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care - somehow, through all of Clarke’s uncontrolled writhing, her tongue never relents its assault on Clarke’s clit.  
  
The result is an orgasm that not only lasts longer than she’s used to - it could be an eternity, for all Clarke is aware of time - but it also brings with it several aftershocks that by the end, leave her barely able to catch her breath, much less move.

When at last they do subside, leaving her panting, Lexa doesn't immediately get up. Instead, she curls both arms around Clarke's legs and lifts her head, tipping it against her bare thigh. With bright eyes and a red face, she looks up at Clarke and smiles. "See?" she asks, and that voice returns for just a moment as she perks her eyebrow. "Reward."

Clarke chuckles and takes the liberty of removing the blindfold over her eyes. Her smile grows even wider when she sees Lexa’s expression, all satisfaction and affection. “I trusted you, my love. It’s just difficult...” she reaches down and wraps her hand around one of Lexa’s, “not to touch you.”

Lexa chuckles and presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh before pushing herself up. "I suppose that is a relief," she says, and lays down next to Clarke, her arm draped over her stomach. "Are you alright? Was all that...?"

“New,” Clarke admits, “but also fun. Do you have much experience with...” Clarke aimlessly gestures around them, searching her still sluggish mind for the word. “Games?” She finally supplies.

While Lexa's face was red before, she blushes now. "No," she admits sheepishly. "This had never occurred to me before you..." she gestures aimlessly. "Commented. On my voice. It was a sort of inspiration."

“Well then I am very glad to have been of service!” Clarke doesn’t think twice about snuggling as far as she possibly can into Lexa. “I trust you. I know I said that, but I haven’t thought about how much. I’ve been accused of being...controlling, I guess,” Clarke rolls her eyes, despite the fact that Lexa couldn’t possibly see the expression. “By Bellamy, more than once.”

"Right, yes - 'Princess'," Lexa quotes, a sardonic edge to the word. She rolls fully onto her back, her arm tightening around Clarke. "Not everyone can tell the difference between being competent and being controlling, unfortunately. But that aside..." she tips her head over to kiss Clarke's forehead. "I am honored that you would place such confidence in me. I know that sort of trust...it is not always the easiest to come by."

“Curiously, trusting you in bed has proven far easier than in other arenas.” Clarke mentally pushes away the details of those “other arenas.” If this is the only day of uninterrupted time she’ll have with Lexa, she’s not going to ruin it. “Besides, you’ve given me a few ideas of my own for —“  
  
Clarke is cut off by an odd sound - an erratic scratching against the door of Lexa’s room. It stops just as suddenly and then starts again. Clarke frowns, wondering... and then a telltale _mrrrrooww_ confirms her suspicion.  
  
“Pip! Oh no, I forgot to feed her.” She pushes herself up and out of Lexa’s grasp before the Commander has a chance to pull her back down.

"Wha--?" Lexa sits up, but Clarke has already pulled the robe back on over her shoulders and left the fort. "Feed her--??"  
  
The scratching continues as Clarke makes her way around the haphazard scattering of furniture and books, pulling the robe closed around her as she does. Behind her, she hears Lexa scrambling to catch up.  
  
" _Clarke, you're in a robe!"_ The Commander hisses, but she's already opened the door.

“Pip!” Clarke has enough time to confirm aloud before the cat in question comes scampering into the room. The guards at the door neither comment nor even look at the cat or at Clarke, but they’d have been hard pressed to miss the interaction.  
  
Clarke closes the door as soon as Pip darts past her. “I forgot, with everything that’s happened today, that I normally feed her around this time,” she explains as she finds an extra bowl and fills it with bits of leftovers from their lunch.

"Once again: feed her?" Lexa repeats. She stands to one side of the fireplace, warily watching Pip as she hops up on the low table currently serving as the back of the fort, and begins to investigate the sheet draped over it. In the process, tiny paws make their way across the papers and notes still scattered there. "Can it not sustain itself on what it hunts? Also, _why is it in my room?"_

“ _She_ must have seen me come in here before.” Clarke puts the bowl of food she’s crafted next to the fireplace opposite Lexa. Pip immediately hops down and wanders over, scattering Lexa’s papers in the process. “It’s impressive actually, that she’d remember that. She’s a smart little thing.”

"Mm." Lexa watches this with arms crossed over her chest. "So smart that it can't feed itself, apparently."

Clarke shrugs, an amused smile on her face. “Smart enough to know that it doesn’t have to hunt if I feed it.”

The Commander just sighs, then drops her arms and ducks into the fort to retrieve her _chocow_ cup. " _Took a perfectly good mouser and made it useless,_ " Clarke hears her mutter in Trigedasleng.

Clarke purses her lips in mock displeasure. “She is still a perfectly good mouser, she just doesn’t have to catch mice.” She walks around the fire and into Lexa’s space - at which point, if she didn’t think it would cost her a verbal berating to say so, she’d swear the Commander is pouting.  
  
“Ignore Pip.” Clarke pulls Lexa’s hands from her chest, unfolding her arms. “You promised I’d have you to myself all day. Given that, I think it’s high time you had less clothes on.”  
  
At some point, an hour or two later, Elena comes to the door with dinner. It takes Lexa several moments to throw her clothes back on, during which she looks adorably flustered. When she does finally come back with two covered plates, Clarke’s stomach grumbles. They make short work of the food and as they’re setting the dishes aside, Clarke quickly gathers some leftovers to toss into Pip’s bowl. She’s easily able to overpower Lexa’s protests with a kiss - or several.  
  
By the time they’re done, the moon is high in the sky. The blizzard has lessened somewhat, but not entirely. Wind still howls outside and rattles the windows. Clarke grabs her book and curls into Lexa’s side, as close to her as she can possibly be while still holding a book in her hands. Lexa’s arm around Clarke is pleasantly tight against her chest and she holds her own book in her other hand. They read together in silence, until the wood on the fire burns down to a pile of glowing embers and neither of them has the strength or desire to get it going again.

Lexa is dozing, her book still open on her chest, when Clarke spots a small shadow slink across the firelight. Pip pads her way into the blanket fort, sniffing at the animal skins strewn across the floor and taking in the space with eyes that glint green in the darkness. Spotting Clarke snuggled up against Lexa, she approaches the sleeping Commander and gives her hair a careful sniff. Satisfied, she turns in a circle before curling up on Lexa's other side.  
  
Though she's not quite close enough to touch her, Pip's movements are enough to cause Lexa to stir. Opening her eyes she blinks at the cat, closer to her now than she had ever been, and makes a face. But then she notices Clarke, still awake and watching with a grin on her lips and an eyebrow raised, and Lexa just sighs again. She kisses Clarke on the forehead, closes her book, and settles in to sleep.


	7. Eye of the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, a sickness starts spreading in Polis. Normally we wouldn't think to tag that fact, but given everything that's been going on...
> 
> There are no graphic descriptions, but it is a plot point.

When Clarke wakes again the next morning, it's surprisingly bright in Lexa's room. Sunlight streams in through the high windows and filters through the blanket roof above them. It must be midmorning, easily, but Clarke has never been here so late. In fact, she can't even remember the last time she slept so late anywhere. And more wondrous yet, Lexa is still asleep beside her.

It's a rare enough sight to see Lexa still asleep when Clarke wakes up in the morning, no matter the time. Despite Lexa's claims to the contrary, she emits soft, quiet snores - otherwise she hardly moves, except to tighten her grip around Clarke as she shifts slightly. It feels like such a treat to be the first to wake up, to see Lexa before anyone else does. To see her like _this_ , more specifically.  
  
Clarke doesn't want to startle her awake, so she peppers light kisses along the portions of Lexa's skin that she can reach. Small, gentle kisses along her shoulder first, then her collarbone and up. By the time Lexa stirs, Clarke is halfway up her neck.

She makes a little whining sound, tipping her head away and - perhaps inadvertently - giving Clarke more access. She happily takes advantage of it until Lexa's eyes flutter open at last, and she turns to look at Clarke with a small, fond smile on her face.  
  
"What a pleasant way to wake up," she whispers softly.

"I was just thinking the same thing," Clarke murmurs. She scoots a little farther up on the pile of pillows and kisses Lexa on the lips. The Commander's movements are slow and a little haphazard, still laden with sleep. It makes Clarke smile against her mouth. "I could get used to this."

"I am sorely tempted to," Lexa answers, all low and sleepy, her eyes still half lidded. She lifts her hand from Clarke's shoulders and threads her fingers through her hair, playing with her curls. "Morning sunlight suits you."

Lexa's hair falls in waves around her head, tousled from sex and sleep and yet somehow still gorgeous. Her eyes are still only half open, but they glitter like green fire in the sunlight streaming through the cracks in the blanket roof, all affection and contentment. Clarke's heart aches at the scene and she commits it absolutely to memory - knowing that if she ever sees it again, it will likely be a long time from now.  
  
"You took the words right out of my mouth." Clarke nudges Lexa's nose with her own and gives her one last peck on the lips before nuzzling into her neck again, content to be enveloped in her arms. "I'm impressed Elena let us sleep so late."

And all at once, Lexa starts. She jumps, propping herself up on her elbows and dislodging Clarke from her place. Pip, who had been content dozing above their heads, jumps as well. She leaps to the front of the fort and shoots Lexa what can only be described as a look of contempt as the former says, "Elena!"  
  
The handmaid has already been there, they soon discover, and has left a folded note on the tray of breakfast she deposited on the table. Lexa brings both back into the fort and reads the note as they munch on a cold breakfast of preserved fruits and yogurt. Once they've both settled, Pip makes a cautious return and flops onto her side in front of the long-dead fire.

Clarke just shakes her head as she watches Lexa pour over the note, as if it were longer than a few sentences. She almost doesn't want to ask, but the bubble of peace and serenity they'd enjoyed yesterday has to burst some time. "What does it say?"

"A preliminary report on the effects of the storm," Lexa answers, rereading the message. "Some property damage, some injuries. A few deaths, among the elderly. Unfortunate, but nothing that cannot be handled."

Clarke frowns, instantly ill at ease. “How did they die? Accidents?”

"One, yes. The others from varying degrees of exposure; weather events such as this are always hardest on those who are already vulnerable." Lexa folds the note in half and sets it aside. "There will be more details to come as the day goes on. But for now, there is little that must be done."

“Still,” despite her earlier displeasure at reality intruding on their time together, Clarke’s immediate thought is that if people are hurt, she’ll be needed. Which is exactly what she conveys to Lexa as she paws through the pile of blankets and pillows for her clothes. “I'm sure Carlisle will have more patients than usual. I should be there to help.”

"It will be some time before the full extent of the damage is known," Lexa says, and reaches out to catch Clarke's hand. With a gentle tug, she tries to coax her back to her side. "And when it is, I will have to survey the damage. We could go together."

Clarke allows herself to be pulled back, which results in her landing only somewhat gracefully on top of Lexa. “As tempting as staying here is...” she kisses her gently, one hand on her shoulder and the other holding her hip, “and damn, is it tempting. But I have to go. I don’t need a report to tell me I’ll be needed, healers always are. It’s just a matter of how urgently.”  
  
She gives her one last, deep kiss, thinking the entire time how badly she wishes time would just stop. Right now, in this moment. But it doesn’t. When they eventually do pull apart Lexa, if reluctantly, lets her go.

Pip follows her back out of the room, giving nary a look at Lexa as she does. It's an easy thing then to return to her room - after what feels like an eternity away - and leave the cat there after changing into her healer's garb. Pip is clearly capable of getting out if she wants; Clarke isn't worried when she closes the door again, leaving her lounging in a sunny patch on the carpet.  
  
Outside, the sound of whooping and hollering echoes from the direction of the training pitch. Clarke can just barely see around the corner as she passes, spotting massive, snowy fortifications and black uniformed Nightbloods darting around. It is warmer this morning than it was the previous, but not even the brilliant blaze of the sun can drive off the chill in the air. Clarke draws her coat closer around her, and thinks briefly of the wolf skin cloak that still sits in her room as she walks out of the gate.  
  
The city of Polis is blanketed in a thick layer of white. It mutes all sound but reflects the light, leaving streets and buildings alike glittering and blindingly bright. Spears of ice, feet long in places, hang from the eaves of buildings as she passes, weeping water and further refracting the light. Though her tendency to a one track mind is part of her reputation, Clarke can't help but marvel at it as she passes. Never has she seen anything so bright, so crisp and clean, as this. The light and cold of it fills her senses, even as her boots crack through the crust on undisturbed snow and sink into the foot of powder beneath it. Bundled people with shovels are even now clearing paths through it on the main avenues, but it's clear that that will be a day-long job.  
  
The further into the city she goes, the more the effects of the storm make themselves known. The streets are still mostly empty, windows boarded up and chimneys smoking heavily. The thatch roof of a stable, now sporting a gaping hole where the weight of the snow caused a portion to collapse. Where the animals that call that place home are now, Clarke has no idea. How does a person keep a horse or cow warm in weather like this? How does a city filled with so many people, and so few accessible natural resources, keep its people safe?  
  
Carlisle is in the foyer when Clarke arrives, almost as though he were waiting for her. His expression betrays his exhaustion as his eyes find hers.  
  
" _Klark,_ " he greets in Trigedasleng. " _It is good you're here. How did you fare in the storm?"_

"Good morning, Carlisle." Clarke feels an edge of guilt as she takes in the scene around her. It's not a mess, by any means - Carlisle wouldn't allow that if he could help it - but it's clear they've been shorthanded. "By the time it picked up, I was already in the tower. I was told it was safest to stay put, but I wish I had been here to help. How is everything? What can I do?"

"You are one of the few who have been able to get in," he says, and waves for her to join him as he turns to enter one of the wings. "Others are still digging themselves out. We have a number of injuries, but most are under control now. The true concern lies with our newest patients..."  
  
There are indeed injuries; a broken leg, a number of slips and falls, a few recovering from exposure. But further on in the clinic, patients with no evident ailments. Just an ill pallor and a thick, wet cough.  
  
"It is not unusual for sickness to spread after such a storm," he continues, standing in front of three such beds. "And I am worried that this is just the start."

Clarke has seen colds before, and bad ones, but they were always quickly quarantined. The Ark had a strict policy when it came to spreading illness, and for good reason. But this is a city, not a spaceship. And more than that, these people are free to do as they like and go where they please. If a severe illness, even a bad cold, started to pop up in a few patients, Carlisle is almost certainly right - this is definitely just the beginning.  
  
Clarke spends the day tending to the most obvious injuries. A broken bone here, frostbite there. Even a severed hand, which Clarke has never seen and had to watch Carlisle as he cleaned, sewed, and bandaged it up. The patient in question was rather unforthcoming about how exactly he lost his hand - Clarke would be surprised if it had been an accident.  
  
By the time they're done, the sun has already set and the number of patients with severe coughs has at least doubled. Carlisle was obviously right to assume that more would come. Clarke works well into the evening and only trudges home after Carlisle forcibly sends her away.  
  
The tower is quiet by the time she arrives and she wastes no time in running up to her room and flopping down into her nest of blankets near the fire. She's asleep in seconds, and awake it seems just as quickly. The sun has barely risen but she throws on a fresh outfit anyway and immediately heads back to the clinic, a few pieces of dried meat that she'd reserved for Pip the only thing in her stomach.  
  
The next two days are a complete blur. Patients pour into the clinic. By the end of the next day, the beds are all in use and several hours of Clarke's time is spent piling blankets and cushions and anything else that's even somewhat soft into mounds of makeshift beds. Other healers have been able to arrive and assist them, but not nearly as many as usual. Some are even patients themselves, now - those are particularly annoying to deal with, always thinking they know what's best and ordering Clarke around. She lets Carlisle deal with those patients.  
  
Clarke's time is split between treating people and barking orders to other healers and hands that have volunteered to help. She suspects the influx of helpers came from Lexa, but she has no way of confirming that. Lexa is understandably barred from entering the clinic until the illness is declared contained, and Clarke doesn't ask them in any case - she's just happy to have the help.  
  
Clarke doesn't return to the tower for two nights. She sleeps when she can, for an hour here or there, but mostly she's up and running around. Treating patients, making room for more, discharging others who haven't shown any symptoms for twelve or so hours. Carlisle only scolds her for not sleeping once - when Clarke points out that she'll be happy to go home when he does, he stops making a fuss about it.  
  
After two days, new patients finally stop coming. It seems that they were able to at least quarantine half the city and those who come into the clinic now are few and bearing the usual injuries and ailments. It still takes Clarke the entire third day to discharge the rest of the patients, but by early evening the last one is finally gone. On her way back from yet another supply run, Clarke has to blink several times to maintain focus and keep her eyes open - and apparently still isn't awake enough not to run smack into Carlisle as he rounds the corner.  
  
" _Sorry!"_ Clarke's Trigedasleng has improved immensely in just the last two days. Almost none of her patients spoke English. " _Sorry, Carlisle. I wasn't paying attention. Are you alright?"_

" _I'm alright,_ " he answers in kind, but when they're both steady on their feet again, he catches hold of Clarke's chin. Turning her head this way and that, he watches her eyes. " _You, on the other hand..._ "  
  
Clarke would probably balk at the severity of his touch under normal circumstances. As it is, she can only barely bring herself to shake her head out of his grasp. " _I'm fine,_ " she says as she attempts, lamely, to brush past him.

"Of course you are," he answers in English, and stops her. "Which is why I'm sending you on a very important mission."  
  
Without waiting for her to comment or protest, Carlisle roots around in his pocket and pulls out a small glass container. Clarke immediately recognizes it as a sampling of the medicine they have been using to treat their patients the last three days. "I need you to bring this to Elena, at the tower. One of the children in her employ was a patient here yesterday, and needs a little extra help getting back to full strength."

Clarke blinks a few times, attempting to wade through the fog that’s settled over her mind the last few hours. She doesn’t remember discharging anyone who would continue to need medicine, but she’s seen so many people the last few days...specifically more children than she would like. It’s not unlikely that she’d forget the specifics of every single one of them.  
  
“Alright...” Clarke takes the glass vial and wraps it in a loose cloth before nestling it in her pocket. “No one else can run it over? Where did all of the messengers and extra hands get off to?”

"They are either helping now or at home getting rest. Besides, you are the only one who would be able to enter the tower," he answers. "Aside from myself, perhaps. But I am on my way home to rest myself."

Clarke can’t see any fault to that logic. And, if she’s being honest with herself, it will be nice to get out of the clinic. She hasn’t been outside at all except to help patients in or receive deliveries, and those instances lasted maybe a minute at most. Fresh air, even if it’s frigid, will be a welcome change.  
  
Carlisle, annoyingly, follows Clarke to the corner where she’d stashed her coat and belongings and then walks her out of the clinic.

The city is still there when she steps out into the evening air. Snow rises in little mountains against walls and in alleyways, but the streets are clear and Polis' citizens have returned to them. What property damage she had witnessed on the way to the clinic the morning after the storm is being tended to, fallen roofs cordoned off and debris cleared away. In a few places, workers still hammer away at repairs even now that the sun is gone.  
  
It's a somewhat surreal experience, being in the open air for the first time in more than forty-eight hours, and finding that life has continued apace beyond the clinic's walls. That, and the lack of sleep is likely doing some weird things to her brain's ability to interpret received sense data. But she doesn't hallucinate seeing any bunnies dancing through the snow on her way back to the tower, so she counts that as a win.

Clarke makes it up the lift and then the stairs of the tower on autopilot. She isn't sure where to find Elena without calling for her, so she heads straight to her room and rings the buzzer on the wall. While she waits, she sets the vial of medicine down carefully on the table and eyes herself in the mirror. She looks exhausted - and that's a generous description. Her clothes haven't been changed in two days and her hair hasn't been washed in more.  
  
She should really take a bath and get cleaned up before going back...but then she turns to her chair, still piled high with blankets and her carefully situated pillows. Just a few minutes to rest her eyes can't hurt.

When Clarke wakes with a start, it's several hours later. Or so she guesses - she feels as though she's just closed her eyes, but grey sunlight is streaming through the windows. She can't see the sun for the clouds, but she would hazard that it must be somewhere around noon...meaning she must have slept for upwards of ten hours. Or was it longer? What day is it, anyway?  
  
She realizes the reason for her sudden waking a moment later: a knock sounds at the door, and she suspects that it isn't the first one. Bleary, rumpled, and clumsy with sleep, she stumbles out of her blanket nest and opens the door. She expects Elena, but finds instead Lexa standing on the other side, a tray of food in her hands.  
  
Lexa's eyes catalogue her quickly, taking in her hair and her clothes but lingering on her face. "Clarke."

"Lexa..." Clarke's mouth feels sticky with sleep and she realizes with only a vague sense of embarrassment how absolutely terrible she must look at this point. The prevailing feeling is a sense of immediate relief upon seeing the Commander. Clarke hadn't been truly worried about her - in fact, she barely had time to think of anything other than her work at all in the last few days - but not seeing Lexa for so long, she now realizes, put her ill at ease. A feeling that disappears entirely at the sight of her.  
  
"Sorry, come in." Clarke opens the door wider to allow the other woman entry. "I'm sorry if you've been here a while, I guess I didn't hear you."

"That's quite alright." There is something formal in the way she says it, in the way she carries her shoulders as she enters the room. When the door closes, it immediately melts away. "I didn't mean to disturb you, but..." She casts about for a clear surface, now looking somewhat awkward holding the tray of food between both hands. They are far more accustomed to sharpened steel than wooden serving utensils. "I thought you might need some food."

Clarke smiles and relieves her of the tray. "Thank you. I should probably eat, I don't really remember the last time I did..." She clears a spot on the table and notes that the vial of medicine is gone. Elena must have swooped in and grabbed it without waking her up. In fact, she might've done so with specific direction from Carlisle. He had to guess she wouldn't be able to resist resting once she returned to her room...Clarke rolls her eyes at the thought.  
  
"I'm surprised to see you, I would've thought you'd send Elena with something like this." Lexa looks up at that, confusion and a little hurt evident on her face. "Not that I'm not happy to see you," Clarke quickly corrects. In fact, she'd positioned herself right back into Lexa's space without so much as noticing that she'd moved. She wraps her arms around Lexa's waist and nestles her head between her neck and shoulder. Clarke breathes in the smell of Lexa's skin and sighs. "I'm very happy to see you."

Lexa makes a soft, contented sound in response, and when she turns her face into Clarke's hair, she can feel her smile. Her arms wrap around her in response.  
  
"It was Elena's idea, truth be told," Lexa says softly. Her hold on Clarke doesn't loosen. "I just wanted an excuse to see you. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" Clarke chuckles at herself, realizing how often she's said that in the past few hours. Or has it really been a day? She still has no idea. "I'm fine, I promise. I didn't even get sick, which is a small miracle." Despite Lexa's tight hold around her, Clarke is still able to move her head back far enough to look into her eyes. "Are you alright? I assumed Elena and Titus would do everything they could to keep you away from anyone infected, but I never heard anything."

"I am. When you didn't return the second day, I wanted to go to the clinic myself. But, as you guessed, Titus did not approve of the idea." Being able to see but not touch her face is evidently too much for Lexa, because she loosens her hold on Clarke and lifts a hand to touch her cheek. "Believe it or not, even the Commander has to take direction on occasion."

Clarke closes her eyes and nuzzles into Lexa's touch. It's only been a few days, but it feels like weeks since they've been together. "For what it's worth, I would've agreed with him." She opens her eyes again, with effort. "I wouldn't want you in danger, even of illness. Granted nobody died, that we know of, but there were a few cases...if they hadn't gotten to the clinic when they did, I doubt they would've made it."  
  
It makes Clarke's chest physically ache to release her hold on Lexa, but she forces herself. She does need to eat, and more than that she's still, somehow, exhausted - and passing out in Lexa's arms, while not exactly dangerous, might give the other woman a heart attack. "I don't even know what time it is, but I'd love to hear about the last few days. Do you have time to sit with me for a while?"

"For a time, yes. It is why I came now." Even so, Lexa does not move to join her. Instead she stands, hands now folded behind her back, and watches Clarke with a strangely wary look on her face.  
  
"I am almost always in danger, Clarke," she says after a moment, when she is once more in Clarke's sight line. "You know this."

"I do," Clarke inclines her head, confused at Lexa's sudden change in mood. "You don't have to remind me. I think about it all the time. But that doesn't mean I won't try to protect you, or that I intend to add to the danger you already face."

There is more that Lexa wants to say. At least, there is more that's on her mind; Clarke can see it in her eyes. But after a moment of silence, she just nods and begins to fill her in on what she's missed.  
  
They sit in the chairs in front of the fire, Clarke once more wrapped in her blankets and Lexa in the seat opposite. The food is situated between them, but Clarke does most of the eating. Truth be told, it's much of what is keeping her awake in that moment, Lexa's presence aside. The Commander just picks absently at what's there as she recounts the settled statistics, the numbers that represent the people hurt, the lives lost, the buildings damaged and the resources destroyed. Polis will not suffer for long because of the storm. Though Carlisle's clinic was not the only one inundated with the city's ill in the last three days, they were the first to get the contamination under control and the only to escape without casualties. There is, Clarke realizes with a twinge of guilt, some pride in that knowledge. But the sickness has claimed lives, and though Lexa deals with this information matter of factly, Clarke sees the faces of her patients before her eyes.  
  
But Polis was not the only place to be hit by the storm. It came down through the north, but hadn't gained its full momentum until passing the city and moving on into _Trikru_ territory, and on to Arkadia. It sits there even now, last Lexa has heard, dumping the first real snow any of _Skaikru_ has seen straight down on their heads. They had been warned ahead of time, the Commander made certain, and steps had been taken to move their most vulnerable into the Mountain before it hit. Even so, it remains to be seen what sort of toll it has taken on the lands south of them, even as Polis returns to normal life around them.

The news that the storm has hit Arkadia, combined with the reality of just how deadly the illness she’d been treating could be, fills Clarke with anxiety. She’ll have to use the communicator to ask her mother what the damage is when the storm passes, and what she can do to help. If the communicator even continues to work after a snowstorm, that is.  
  
Clarke realizes with some surprise that she hasn’t spoken in several minutes, lost in thought - and even more surprising is that Lexa hasn’t spoken either. Though the Commander glances at her now and again, she still looks deep in thought. In fact, she hasn’t really shaken that look since they sat down.  
  
“Lexa,” Clarke says her name louder than usual, which has the intended effect. Lexa raises her eyes to focus again on Clarke’s. “You seem uneasy, even given what we’ve been discussing. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

The Commander is about to redirect, to wave it off. Her lips quirk up in a small, quick smile, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. She opens her mouth to respond...but her eyes meet Clarke's, and in that moment she changes her mind. The false smile fades, and she looks down.  
  
"The nature of our duties means that we will both regularly face a variety of threats. I know I do not have to remind you of that," Lexa says, the last added quickly in response to the look on Clarke's face. "But a time may come when I will have to face that danger head on. And you will need to let me." Her green eyes lift once more, and move between both of Clarke's. "Will you be able to do that?"

Clarke frowns. “Where’s this coming from? Is this about me not wanting you to come to the clinic? That would have been an unnecessary risk.”

"Yes and no," Lexa admits. She's uncharacteristically hesitant in her speech as she continues, "It's...the way you said that earlier. That you do not want me to be in danger. I can sympathize - I had every intention of dragging you out of that clinic myself when I heard. But..." She offers a sheepish smile. "I had quite some time to think."

“I know, I’m sorry I was gone so long.” Clarke sighs. “But I could help, so I had to do whatever I could. I know you understand that.”

Lexa nods. "That was the only argument that could persuade me, ultimately. While it was true that working in such proximity to the illness could easily mean contracting it yourself, there was work that you could do to stop it. Not only was I intending to prevent you from doing so, but I would only get in the way in the process. And potentially wind up ill myself."

“You are rarely so agreeable,” Clarke says, a touch of fondness even at that in her voice. “I would have felt the same, if I were you. But there has to be something else.”

The Commander folds one leg over the other, and rests her hands on the arms of the chair - for all the world looking like she's sitting on her throne. Despite the power in her position, however, she looks as though she's battening down the hatches: she looks away from Clarke, directly ahead of her as she says, "As Commander, war is often my work." She glances at Clarke, who knows exactly where this is going and has already opened her mouth to speak. "And when the time comes, you will have to let me--"

"I won't _have_ to do anything." Clarke's voice is patient, but confident and leaves little room for argument - exactly the voice she uses when speaking with her more difficult patients. "When that time comes, if it does, I'll do everything I can to stop it. I do not believe war is regularly necessary, or that you - and many, many others, by the way - necessarily need to be in danger." It's clear that Lexa is about to interrupt, but Clarke nods and raises her hand to stop her. "And if I'm wrong, or I can't convince you, then I'll be with you and we'll face it together."

Lexa shuts her mouth when Clarke raises her hand, and nods along as she finishes. A muscle twitches in the corner of her jaw, but her voice is nevertheless even when she says, "You are a capable leader, Clarke." Again, she isn't quite looking at her, planning her words carefully before they leave her mouth. "You have won every battle you have ever fought, which is much more than I can say. But being a strategist is not the same as being a soldier. I will not ask you to stay locked in a tower somewhere far from the fight - that would be absurd, and a waste of your talents. But on the field of battle itself..."

"I think I've come a long way!" Clarke smirks, remembering a recent training session with Ronnie where the young Nightblood had successfully knocked her off her feet - and then tumbled down with her as she swiped his legs out from under him. "I'm a decent fighter, ask Ronnie. Besides, my people have other weapons," she glances at her bed and the bag still stuffed beneath it. Clarke hasn't touched it since Bellamy left except to pull out the communicator, but she hasn't forgotten what's in it. "I don't need to be in the middle of things to fight.  
  
"In any case, this is all assuming you have to be fighting a war in the first place, which I'd rather we attempt to avoid. I see the parallel you're attempting to draw, but the two are not the same. I know how to avoid contracting an illness as I'm treating it, and even if I had gotten sick, I was in the clinic. There would have been no better, no safer, place for me to be at that point. Between Carlisle and myself and access to medicine, I would have been fine." Clarke waits until Lexa turns back to her and meets her eyes before continuing, "There are some ailments I can't fix. Not me, or Carlisle, or even my mother. War is not your only job, you're also a leader. And leading doesn't result in the same catastrophic injuries that war does." Clarke snorts. "Well, it results in them less often, at least."

Lexa's lips do quirk upwards in response. "One would hope so, yes," she says. Perhaps somewhat surprisingly, she doesn't continue to push the subject. Clarke suspects that she knew what the answer was going to be before she had even broached it, and has more or less resigned herself to it. "But that is the first priority, you are correct. If we have come to war, we will know that all other options have failed."

"I understand our duties," Clarke says, her tone turning a little more serious. "I'm not naive, I know I can't protect you from everything. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try. Others may need their Commander but I need you, Lexa. If something happened to you and I could have done something, anything, to prevent it, I would never forgive myself."

"And I need you, Clarke." Lexa drops her imperial posture and turns towards Clarke, leaning forward so she can take one of Clarke's hands in both of hers. "But I also need your mind. I need your brilliance, your tenacity. And if the day comes that the best course of action is to go charging headlong into danger, I need to know that I won't lose you to endless attempts to avoid it. That we will not waste time running from it, but will stand and face it, because it is what we must do."

Clarke’s mouth turns down at the corners as she considers Lexa’s words. Her thumb traces Lexa’s knuckles as she struggles to assemble her thoughts into something coherent.  
  
“You’re right,” she finally says. “I can’t let my fear of losing you - or anyone, for that matter - stop us from doing something that’s necessary. As long as you let me stand and face it with you.” Clarke searches Lexa’s expression, confident that she will hear that statement for the true question that it is.

A smile, small but honest, quirks Lexa's lips. She lifts Clarke's hand, bending her head at the same time to press a kiss to the back of it. "Having you beside me as we marched on the Mountain was...a surprising source of strength," she admits, lowering their hands again. "I could want nothing more in those moments of fear and uncertainty than to have you beside me."

Clarke swallows the instinct to suggest that perhaps it wasn't a strong _enough_ source of strength, given the outcome of that event. She manages it, with effort. "Good," she says instead, "I'm glad we... talked that through, I guess." Her head feels light again, even so quickly after eating. She rubs at her temples absently with her free hand and closes her eyes.  
  
"I do trust you, Lexa." Clarke opens her eyes and finds Lexa's again. "You know that, right?"

Lexa looks very much as though she's been caught off guard. She blinks at Clarke, confusion in her eyes as she says, "Yes, of course I do."

"Even if I disagree with you, I still trust you." Clarke tries to find the words to convey her feelings even as she says them. "Even if I think you're being an idiot or I try to convince you of something, I will still believe that you're doing what you think is right." Clarke physically shakes her head, as if that will somehow jumble all of these thoughts into one coherent one. "Does that make sense? My concern for your wellbeing and my trust in you are not mutually exclusive. Is what I'm trying to say. I hope that's clear, even when we do disagree. I know you are always just trying to do what you feel is right."

The confusion on Lexa's face fades into a serious expression of her own, and she nods her understanding as Clarke speaks. Her hands press close to hers, but other than that she doesn't move. It takes her a moment to find the words to answer, but when she does, she makes certain to hold Clarke's gaze.  
  
"Thank you for saying as much," she says quietly. "It is helpful to know that now, for certain, before anything comes to threaten...what we have. I love you, Clarke. And your trust will not be in vain."

Clarke exhales, somehow even more tired after attempting to convey what, in reality, is not a wholly complex thought. She probably would have done it far more eloquently, or at least somewhat more eloquently, if she hadn't just come off of a straight sixty hours of effectively no sleep. But it felt right to at least try, given the turn their conversation has taken.  
  
"I know it won't." Clarke smiles at the serious expression on Lexa's face, pleased that despite her rambling, the Commander seems to have understood her meaning. "And I love you too. Now how serious, exactly, are the rest of your duties today? Are they more important than being my pillow?"

That draws a chuckle from the Commander, who looks down at their joined hands again. "Unfortunately yes," she says, giving Clarke's hand another squeeze before withdrawing both of hers. "I would love nothing more than to be your pillow, but three days has not been enough to stem the tide of politics." She looks back up at Clarke. "But you could come by this evening? After dinner, perhaps?"

"Oh, alright." Clarke rolls her eyes far more dramatically than is strictly necessary. "I shouldn't sleep the entire day away anyway. I'm sure my fellow ambassadors have missed me terribly. Actually, speaking of missing me..."  
  
Clarke scans her room for any hint of orange poking out of the blankets or skulking in a corner. "I hope Pip has remembered how to feed herself. I don't know how long I've been asleep, but I thought for sure she'd wake me up as soon as she saw I was back..."

Lexa follows her eyes a moment before she realizes what it is she's looking for. "Oh! The cat," she says, and sighs as she stands. "She came to my room when you were away, and has refused to leave since. Every time I return she has found some way to knock something else over, or pee on something else I value. I would appreciate it if you picked her up at some point."

It takes Clarke several seconds to process that, during which time she just stares at Lexa. "You...took care of my cat?"

It looks for all the world as though Lexa is only just realizing this herself. She makes a face and says, "It wouldn't stop yowling."

Clarke’s eyebrows, she’s sure, are well past her hairline. “She does that when she’s hungry. Or wants attention.” Clarke stands and wraps her arms around Lexa’s neck, kissing her on the cheek. “You must love me.”

"I hardly see what your annoying cat has to do with it," Lexa grumbles, but she returns the embrace.

“I’ll take her back with me tomorrow morning.” Clarke moves her head just slightly, just enough to kiss Lexa on the mouth instead. “Thank you, for bringing the food. Hopefully it will sustain me through the next few hours of catching up with the ambassadors. I almost miss the clinic - at least nobody there cares about trade or weapons distribution or who’s made alliances with whom.”

"Mm," Lexa hums. "I suppose asking you to take the rest of the day to rest is futile." A beat, and then as an afterthought, "I could order everyone else not to meet with you today. That might have a slightly higher rate of success."

“How quickly we turned from lecturing me about ‘necessary danger’ to manufacturing a way to relieve me of my duties.” Clarke gives her one last peck and then pushes her toward the door. “You’ll just have to help me relax later.”

Despite all the two of them have already experienced the last several weeks, the thought of that still manages to bring a blush to Lexa's face. "I...am amenable to that," she says, but on her way out the door she turns to look at Clarke. "Do take care of yourself in the meantime, please?"

“I don’t have to,” Clarke had already begun rummaging around the furniture for at least partially clean, tossed aside clothes, but turns back when she hears Lexa’s voice. “You let me sleep, you brought food, and yourself - you already took care of me. I’ll be fine until I see you again.

Lexa sighs in response, but lets it go. "Until then," she says, and disappears.  
  
The rest of the day is sluggish, as can only be expected. She sends out a message to Arkadia, but as expected, the communicator announces a loss of connection with its partner device. Which means Clarke has to get the majority of her updates from Indra's ambassador, Lief, who could at least relate to her in detail the mutual preparations _Trikru_ and _Skaikru_ had made for the storm. From there, it was a question of setting plans for various possible outcomes post-storm, so that they can go into effect as quickly as possible. It feels good to be doing something, but talking about all the tragedies that could be waiting around the bend does not ease Clarke's anxiety.  
  
There are other strains that must be wrapped up with other ambassadors, and by the time she's finished with that the day is gone and a headache has set in. She goes to the kitchens in search of food, but immediately upon seeing her Tera shoves food in her hands and then shoos her out, spouting something about sickness and food. Clarke is fairly certain she isn't contagious - she wouldn't have left the clinic otherwise - but she doesn't have the energy to fight Tera on that point. A part of her is really quite glad that she doesn't have to work for her dinner, with her head feeling just on this side of a lead balloon. She munches on her given meal as she makes her way up to Lexa's room.

The guards, as usual, don't even so much as glance at her as she opens the door to Lexa's room - but a streak of orange is all the warning she has before Pip leaps up into her arms. Well, in one arm. Clarke is only able to reach out with one hand, her other still occupied with holding food. But Pip apparently only needed an additional landing pad as she jumps up again and settles around Clarke's shoulders, snuffling into her hair and already purring like a tiny, fuzzy engine against her ear.

"Someone missed you."  
  
Clarke looks up to find Lexa standing from her seat on the couch, setting down the papers in her hand. Weeks later, and she still stands every time Clarke comes in the room.

"Would that be you or the cat?" Clarke laughs and gently removes Pip from her shoulders. She cuddles her a little before dropping her back on the ground, which seems to satisfy the little creature for the time being. "Did I interrupt something?"

"Does it have to be an or?" Lexa answers. There is little question that Clarke is the more physical of the two when it comes to affection, but the Commander steps around the low table and right into her space. She takes the food Clarke is still holding and puts it down on the low table, along with her paper, and cups both of her hands on either side of Clarke's neck. She leans in and places a soft kiss on Clarke's lips.  
  
"The usual logistics," she says after, finally answering the second of Clarke's questions. "But I can be done soon."

"Good," Clarke whispers, a little breathless. Unable to resist, she pulls Lexa's lips back to her own for another kiss. "Take your time," Clarke takes Lexa's hand and guides her back to the couch. "It'll be nice to sit down and relax for a bit anyway."  
  
They settle into what has quickly become a common position: Lexa sitting normally on the couch, occasionally a leg or both propped up on the table, and Clarke propped sideways next to her, feet either lounging across her lap or stuffed beneath her legs. At the moment she opts for the latter. The way her knees are bent creates a nearly perfect flat surface. She grabs a piece of paper and charcoal from her pocket and draws, as usual, what she sees. Lexa lounging, to the extent that the Commander ever lounges, against the couch, a stack of papers in her lap. She holds each one up closer to her face as she reads it with one hand, the other either idle on Clarke's knee or foot or otherwise roaming about Clarke's legs.  
  
It's a common scene - so common, in fact, that Clarke could probably draw it with her eyes closed. But with the real thing right in front of her, there's no need to imagine it.

Art has always been a kind of meditative state for Clarke. The act of creation, of replicating the world exactly as it is, as she sees it, is soothing, and the repetitive strokes on paper allows her to sink into it entirely. Anything else, everything else, fades into the background, hazy and muted in the face of the clarity of her model.  
  
And then her model draws her out of it, as Lexa's nose wrinkles and a most undignified sound drops from her lips.  
  
"Cat!" She says, lifting a new sheet of paper to find that it - and those beneath it - have been stained with what is almost certainly cat pee. Lexa's green eyes lift to find Pip's, the cat sitting comfortably on the corner of the table furthest from her, blinking right back at her. Her tail moves languidly just off the side of the table, now flicking into view, now lowering, all giving the impression that she is distinctly unimpressed with the Commander. "We talked about this!"

"You _talked_ about this?" Clarke wrinkles her nose at the smell, but is more amused than anything. "You talked to the cat?"

"Yelled at it, more like," Lexa says, chucking the papers back on the table. They scatter a little on impact, but if this was designed to send Pip skittering, it is a rousing failure. She just looks at Lexa, her tail continuing to curl and uncurl, and starts licking her paw. "She's always doing this. Knocking over things, peeing on things, demanding food. I even had that box brought up from your room so she could pee in it, and still she pees on my things. It's like she's doing it on _purpose!"_

"Maybe she doesn't appreciate you yelling at her," Clarke says in her most nonchalant voice.

"Then maybe she shouldn't pee all over my stuff!"

Clarke flips her legs over the couch and scoots closer. "She likes you," she kisses Lexa on the cheek, "it's how she shows affection. Probably. Either that or she's doesn't like you and is trying to drive you so insane that you abandon your own room. It's one of those two."

Lexa swears under her breath, low and in Trigedasleng. " _I will not be driven out of my own room_ ," she grumbles, her whole body tipping slightly towards Clarke when she leans in for the kiss. It's the only acknowledgment she receives from the grumpy Commander. "Especially not by an animal."

Clarke chuckles and pulls Lexa gently over to her, pressing kisses against her neck. "I still can't believe you took care of her for me. How can I ever repay you?"

"By making sure she never comes back," Lexa answers, but her prickly exterior - never truly stalwart in the first place - melts under the shower of affection. She turns, catching Clarke's cheek in her hand so she can kiss her lips. Softer, with no grumbling edge, she says, "I'm just glad you're back."

"I am too. I missed you," Clarke says. "I didn't have much time to think about anything other than what I was doing, but the time I did have was reserved for you." She puts the drawing she'd been working on in Lexa's lap. "What do you think? 'Commander in Repose,' I think I'll call it."

It takes Lexa a moment of bafflement before she recognizes what she's looking at. And when she does, her face turns pink so quickly and so completely that the color reaches the very tips of her ears. She glances between the sketch and Clarke and, despite the obvious answer, asks, "You...drew me?"

Clarke grins at the look on Lexa's face. "I did. I think I'm improving, don't you?"

"I...yes, it's beautiful," she says, and the words come out a little breathless. Lexa picks the page up, holding its edges carefully between her fingers. "But...why did you draw me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Clarke watches Lexa's expression more closely, concern at the edge of her voice. "I'm not the most imaginative, I only draw what I see. You are beautiful."

Lexa smiles then and it's shy, and embarrassed - but it's also pleased. She leans over and kisses Clarke. "Thank you," she says, and looking again at the picture she adds, "I've never had anyone draw me before. Not like this..." After a moment's more study, she turns to Clarke and, pointing at it, asks, "Does my mouth really do this?"

As Lexa is speaking, Clarke has already turned around again in an attempt to settle her head on Lexa's lap. Her headache hasn't entirely gone away, even now that she's been fed again.  
  
"Yes," Clarke laughs at the question, "it really does. When you're working or lost in thought, usually."

"Huh." Lexa continues to look at the picture, holding it up and off to the side so it doesn't cover Clarke's face in her new position. Her other hand immediately settles on Clarke's clavicle, her thumb brushing against the little bit of skin exposed there by the neck of her shirt. "You could have made this up, and I would never know. You didn't make it up, I trust you enough to know that, but even so."

"I would have a hard time drawing you any way other than the way I see you," Clarke admits, "but I wouldn't put it past me." She takes the paper from Lexa's hands and places it down on the table along with the rest of her papers. "Are we done with work? Can I have you to myself yet?"  
  
Lexa smiles indulgently and tips her head down to kiss Clarke in answer.  
  
They spend the evening reading, Clarke curled up half on top of, half next to Lexa. After just a couple of hours the pages on the books begin to appear a little fuzzy...and that's all Clarke remembers before waking up the next morning in Lexa's bed, alone and fully clothed.

As per usual, Lexa's and Elena's voices filter through from the other side of the room. The candles in the room have burned low, and the winter sun is yet to rise, but firelight glows beneath the dividing curtain. Clarke follows it through to find Elena putting braids in Lexa's hair while the Commander sits, the agenda for the day in her hands.  
  
" _Ai Etwai_ ," Lexa says, using an endearment to greet her. It's a new thing, a sort of pet name that Lexa tried out a few days ago and has since been growing more comfortable using: _my star_. "Good morning."

Despite having heard it a few times, Clarke still blushes at the familiarity with which Lexa calls her that - particularly with Elena standing right in front of her. "Good morning," she says, and yawns. "I don't even remember falling asleep last night. Or getting into bed, for that matter."

"You slept quite hard," Lexa answers, a small smile on her face. When she stands, Elena leaves off braiding. She busies herself elsewhere while Lexa steps into Clarke's space. "I think you may have still been exhausted from your work at the clinic."

It takes a few moments for that to sink in. The realization that Lexa must have carried her - without her ever waking up, somehow - into bed might be worthy of discussing at another time, but now her thoughts turn immediately to the storm and Arkadia.  
  
"I think you're right," Clarke begins to gather her jacket and shoes and whatever else she inevitably left lying around last night, "but I have to go back. Even if the clinic isn't overrun, Carlisle will still need help. I'll bring my communicator and let you know when my mother is able to get through. The storm has to have passed Arkadia by now."

Lexa nods. "There has been no word from Indra, either. If the storm has passed, it will likely still be some time before we know." She watches Clarke gather her things for a moment before saying, "Will you skip training today?"

Clarke hesitates, a boot half on. "No," she decides, "I should go. I haven't been in three days, I should at least reassure Ronnie that I'm alive." She tries, in vain, to stifle another yawn. "And it might wake me up, starting my day by getting smacked around."

That draws a slightly bigger smile to Lexa's lips, and she nods. "You should come with me, then. Training has moved indoors for the time being; I can show you where."  
  
When they are both prepared for the day, Lexa guides her to a part of the tower that she hasn't spent much time in before. The hallways are mostly quiet, the doors closed and nondescript, making up most of the reason that Clarke has avoided this place: there seems to be nothing here. But as they pass one such door, she catches the sound of an adult voice coming through - echoed back by a number of younger voices a second later. If Lexa notices this she pays it no mind, leading Clarke around a corner and through a set of heavy double doors.  
  
The space beyond is no doubt smaller than the training pitch in the courtyard, but it is easily the biggest room Clarke has seen in the tower. Twice the size of the throne room, it is arrayed with training equipment of all varieties. The usual suspects are there, the training swords and the quarter staffs, but what looks to be a set of weights also sits on the far side of the room, along with ropes and bars that she can't discern the purpose of. The whole of the floor space is covered in thin woven mats, and to one side, a wall of windows lets light spill in. The air is stale with the lingering smell of sweat.  
  
"It is not as comfortable as the training pitch below," Lexa says, walking into the room with the ease of one who has been here countless times before. "But when the weather would otherwise prevent us from training, it suits us well enough."

The warmth of the sun through the windows, unaccompanied by frigid wind or snow, is a welcome change. Clarke takes a moment to bask in the heat. "I like it. It reminds me of a similar room we had on the Ark. It had windows just like this - you could see the Earth perfectly from it, during the right time of day. There are few things I miss about space, but the views are definitely one of them."

There's a pause, in which Lexa stops in front of the windows to look out over the snow-frosted city below. Without wind or cold air she has no use for the jackets and long sleeves she's been wearing lately, and so has dressed in a grey sleeveless shirt instead.  
  
"What was it like?" She asks, still looking out the window. "The view from the Ark? I can't fathom it."

"It's..." Clarke struggles to think of an apt comparison. "I'm not sure I can do it justice. It's like...like when there's a full moon, or nearly full, and a completely clear sky. Like looking up and seeing nothing but black, the occasional star, and even though it's obviously a small thing compared to the expanse of the sky, the brightness of the moon kind of seems to take up everything." Clarke removes her jacket and pulls the henley over her head as she speaks. Thankfully yesterday was a day she'd chosen to throw a tank top on underneath it - the windows may provide an idyllic view, but they'll heat the space up quickly. "Obviously the earth has oceans and land and mountains that make it look different than the moon, but that's the best comparison I can think of."

Catching sight of her reflection in the window, Lexa turns to watch Clarke strip the layers off. As though unable to help herself but be close to her when so much of her skin is showing, she crosses to Clarke and loops her arms loosely around her waist.  
  
"Perhaps you can draw it for me," she hums.

"I don't think I'd be able to capture it with just my charcoal," Clarke runs her hands up Lexa's arms, enjoying the absence of clothing between her fingertips and Lexa's biceps. "But for you, I'll do my best."

Lexa leans in to kiss her. "That's all I can ever ask," she says against her lips. Then she taps her hand where it rests against Clarke's lower back and steps away. "Come. We can stretch while you wait for your teacher."  
  
When Ronnie does arrive, it's by poking his head in so cautiously that Clarke doesn't notice him at first. That lasts for all of a second before he sees Clarke, and bursts in with all of his usual exuberance. It seems Lexa was not the only one who missed her during her extended stay at the clinic; Ronnie is bubbling over with excitement at seeing her and questions about her time away. She is ultimately the one who needs to remind him that they have training to do.  
  
Confined to a small space, Lexa is unable to rely on her usual running warm up, and instead claims the far corner of the room for herself. As Clarke and Ronnie settle into their usual routines, both unusually unencumbered by their clothing, Lexa begins a staff form comprised of a plethora of rapid movements undoubtedly designed to raise one's heart rate. That, coupled with weight training exercises Clarke has never seen her do before, tend to catch Clarke's eye more often than they should. She gets a good whack on the shin from Ronnie for her troubles.

Clarke scowls at him, but Ronnie's grin just grows annoyingly wider. "Pay attention," he chides, as if he knows what's distracting her.  
  
It takes a bit for Clarke to get back up to speed - she's surprised at how just a few days could make her forms and stance rusty. No wonder the Nightbloods train every day.  
  
Soon, however, she's back to matching Ronnie hit for hit and the exertion has the effect Clarke predicted: she does feel more energized. More than that, she's able to forget for an hour or so that she has no idea what state Arkadia is in or how many may have fallen victim to the storm.  
  
Even after their usual training comes to a close and the other Nightbloods begin to filter into the room, Ronnie still peppers her with questions. About the clinic, about being a healer. He even has a particularly ghoulish question about the appearance of people's insides, which Clarke quickly dismisses with a joke. "I'm happy to train you to be a healer, Ronnie," she says finally, "but for now I have to get back to the clinic. People aren't all healed yet."  
  
He gives her another nod and an indulgent smile that looks eerily similar to Lexa's and makes her promise to show up the next morning before trotting off to join the others. Clarke quickly runs back to her room to change into her uniform and tucks the communicator into her pocket before heading back out.  
  
Just twenty-four hours later and the streets are even clearer. More people are going about their daily routine, houses and storefronts seem to be in better repair. The resilience of Grounders hits home for Clarke yet again as she walks - this can't be the first storm that's hit their city, and it certainly won't be the last.  
  
The clinic is busy, but after the last few days it seems to Clarke like there are fewer patients than usual. Most are recovering from a mild version of the illness, while some others who clearly sustained injuries while attempting to repair various buildings and machinery begin to filter in as well. By the end of the day she's tired, but not exhausted, and there's still no word from her mother on the communicator.  
  
She stays later than usual at the clinic, largely to keep her mind off Arkadia, but she can't ignore her other duties forever. The rest of her day is spent with other ambassadors, gathering as much information as she can about the storm and its radius and the effects it's had on other clans so far. Clarke doesn't see Lexa for most of the rest of the day, only here and there as she wanders through the halls, but each time she confirms that she's heard nothing yet from Indra. She goes to bed early that night in her own room, anxious and holding the communicator in her hand where a book usually sits as she sleeps.

When she wakes, she thinks it's Pip. She feels something against her leg that initially feels like her kneading paws - but she starts awake when she realizes it's a vibration. A pre-dawn light creeps over the horizon and, sure enough, the communicator in her lap has received a message.


	8. Would You Have Listened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is Tabby's birthdaaaaaay!!! As a present she wanted you all to have this.
> 
> TW: Alcohol

_Storm over_ , it reads, in the broken, rapid language of one who has a lot to say and not much time. _Structural damage exterior. Few causalities. Food stores holding. Sickness appearing. Will quarantine, need supplies. - A_

Clarke types in a quick reply that she'll send supplies as soon as she can, to let her know what exactly they need. She waits several minutes and doesn't get a response, so she keeps it with her and quickly gets dressed.  
  
It's later than she's become accustomed to waking up, but Lexa should still be training before the Nightbloods arrive. Sure enough, Clarke finds her toweling off from her workout as she walks into the training room.  
  
"My mom messaged me," Clarke declares as she walks in, not even bothering to announce herself.

The surprised look on Lexa's face is gone in an instant. She crosses to Clarke, at once all business. "What did she say?"

The message wasn't long and Clarke is able to relay it exactly to Lexa. "I don't know what supplies they need," she finishes, "but I did ask. Hopefully she'll respond soon. But given the quarantine, I imagine it's healing supplies."

Lexa nods at this, taking the information in without missing a beat. "Are your people familiar with treating contagion?"

"Not exactly..." Clarke only just now notices the sweat on Lexa's arms and neck, accentuating the muscles there as she puts the weights she was using back in their respective crates. She shakes her head, as if to physically remove whatever train of thought that observation just inspired. "There were rarely contagions or spreadable viruses on the Ark and the few times anyone contracted a disease, they were quickly quarantined. As you might imagine, a rapidly spreading illness could have decimated our population in even less time than it might in a city like Polis. But as far as I know, we've never dealt with an illness like the one I was just treating. Even my mother won't know what to do with a disease like that - I had to learn everything about treating it from Carlisle."

Again, Lexa nods. "If we have heard from Arkadia, we will surely hear from _Trikru_ as well. Can you miss training today?"

Clarke raises her eyebrows. "Yes, of course. I'm sure my abilities won't suffer too much from one more day of missed training."

"Good. Then come with me."  
  
They don't stop for Lexa to change or wash up; with towel still draped over her shoulders she leads Clarke straight to the throne room, telling one of the guards along the way to find Elena. It apparently doesn't take long to do so, because the handmaid appears seconds after Lexa pushes open the great double doors.  
  
"The storm has broken," Lexa tells Elena, already sorting the papers left scattered on the table before the throne into piles. "Find the ambassadors from _Trikru_ , _Flokru_ , and _Ouskejon Kru_ , and send them to me. I want to know as soon as we get a raven from Indra."  
  
" _Sha, Heda_ ," Elena says, and bows her head before immediately turning to go.

Clarke notices her own pacing feet only after she's made several passes across the room. When she does notice she stops, but only long enough to intentionally unfold her arms from her chest and force them to her sides. Moving makes her feel slightly less useless, and even slightly less is something.  
  
"I should be with them," she says, almost to herself. "We don't have many doctors, if the disease managed to spread..."

"You could catch it as well," Lexa finishes for her, knowing full well that was not what she was going to say. She leaves off sorting her papers to cross to Clarke, entering her space without a thought and catching both of her hands in hers. "If you had not been here, you would not have learned how to help them, and there is no way you could have made it back before the storm."

Clarke exhales slowly, attempting to lower her own heart rate. It doesn't work, but it's at least calming to have Lexa so close to her. "I know," she breathes. "This is why I stayed, I knew I would be a better help to my people here. I just hate the idea that something might happen to them. Something I could have prevented."

"You can't control the weather, Clarke. And these things happen after a storm like that one." Lexa says softly, and releases one of her hands so she can cup her cheek. "Are you alright?"

Clarke closes her eyes, allows herself to focus entirely on Lexa's touch. Her heart rate has slowed, she's surprised to realize.  
  
"Yes," she whispers, and turns her head slightly to kiss the inside of Lexa's palm. "I'm alright. Just anxious to do something, I'm sure unsurprisingly."

"That is the least surprising thing that I have heard you say in some time," Lexa agrees, and offers a soft smile. "We will know more soon, and once we do--"  
  
Lexa's back is to the door; she cannot see the shadow on the ground, growing larger as footsteps draw closer. Clarke tries to pull back, but by the time she pieces together what it means and remembers where they are its too late - Titus stands in the doorway, his hands folded into the sleeves of his purple robes and his light eyes settled on the two of them.  
  
"Commander," he says, and Lexa jumps. She pulls away as Clarke steps back, but neither of them are fast enough; a second figure appears beside Titus, and Clarke quickly recognizes him as Ilian, the representative from the Shallow Valley clan. They are separated now, but from the look on his face there's little question that he saw something.  
  
Lexa's fists clench at her side as she tries to call down her usual imperious stoicism, the veneer of the Commander that is her first defense, but it's clear that she's struggling to do so. " _Fleimkepa_ Titus," she says, her voice faltering for just a moment. Clarke can practically hear Lexa's pulse pounding in her ears - or maybe that's just her own. "I assume you bring news?"  
  
"I do, Commander," he says, and there is no change in his tone of voice. He enters the room, crossing to where they stand, and drops his arms to his sides. In the process he reveals the raven scroll he has tucked in his hand. He offers it to Lexa once he is close, and as she reaches out to grab it, he shoots a cold look at Clarke. "A raven arrived from _Trikru_."

It takes Clarke a second to tear her eyes from Titus. Of all the people to catch them...she gives Ilian a nod, which he acknowledges in kind. He's never been the most talkative, but Clarke has enjoyed working with him. He has an easy way of speaking and a kind smile that puts her at ease. Now, though, he could be from _Azgeda_ for all the warmth she shows him. Her attention rests firmly on the scroll in Lexa's hands, now unfurled as she scans it. 

"Good news, I hope?" Clarke asks, and ignores the way Titus's eyes narrow at her.

"They're snowed in," Lexa sighs. She starts to roll up the scroll. "The snow has brought down trees, blocking paths usually taken to the outlying villages, and to Arkadia. They cannot assess the damage done there, or move any of their supplies. But as was the case here, they are treating illness and injuries."

"Surely a small contingent could get through," Clarke says, already cataloguing in her head what two or three people would be able to carry. "Even just a crate of medicine and a healer who knows how to treat the disease could prevent it from spreading."

"The contagion is not fully contained here," Titus answers. Even as he does, Lexa walks to the partially cleared table. He turns to keep her in his line of vision, inadvertently - or maybe not so much - turning his back on Clarke. "Even if we could get people through, it would risk our ability to contain it in Polis."

“I’ve been treating the disease for days, and there’s every sign that it’s stopped rapidly spreading.” Clarke walks around to the adjacent side of the table to Lexa. Not too close, but not far either. She fully ignores Titus, but can practically feel his frown deepen. “Carlisle was able to quarantine it effectively, but Arkadia doesn’t have the resources or knowledge to deal with something like this.”

“As I’ve said, your clinic was the first to successfully contain it,” Lexa says, and looks at Titus. She continues to sort through papers. “How have the others fared?"

There is a moment of hesitation before, slow to respond, Titus admits, “The other clinics have reported no new cases. But that is with our healers working day and night, if we were to lose even a fraction of them—“

He is interrupted by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, announcing the arrival of the _Trikru_ and _Floukru_ ambassadors.

“Commander.” Lief, Indra’s ambassador, begins speaking as soon as he enters the room. Jada is hot on his heels as he brandishes an unrolled raven scroll for Lexa to see. “Have you heard?”

“I have,” Lexa answers, lifting her own scroll into view. “The roads are blocked.”

“Indra will certainly begin clearing them as soon as possible,” Lief adds, consternation furrowing his brow, “but it may be some time yet before we can get through.”

“Which is why we should act sooner rather than later," Clarke says, and Lief nods in agreement. Aside from Jada, Lief is the closest friend she has among the ambassadors. “It’s not just my people who may suffer if they can’t treat the disease. It does spread, as we’ve already seen, which means it could spread farther than Arkadia if we can’t contain it. They need medicine, and someone who knows how to treat it.”

“But how will we get it to them?” Ilian asks. He too now stands at the far side of the table, and looks between the gathered faces as he continues, “Even if Polis could spare the healers, it would take a whole host to make it through the forest without roads. They would be lucky to make it there before nightfall.”

“There have been no reports from _Floukru_ about the state of their roads,” Jada offers then. She too acknowledges Clarke with a nod. “But the storm veered to the west, meaning the coast was mostly spared. If we could get the supplies to the sea, _Floukru_ could sail them down.”

Lief is shaking his head. “That would take just as long,” he sighs, “if not longer.”

Clarke drums her fingers on the table, trying to map in her head how long a walk it would be directly from Polis to _Trikru_ , then on to Arkadia. Through the forest. In the snow...  
  
“A host would need roads,” Clarke agrees aloud, “but two or three people wouldn’t. As long as they weren’t burdened with wagons or animals, and carried only what they could on their backs. It would be slower, but as there’s no road they could walk straight there through the trees. It should only take a day. At least then they could assess the situation in _Trikru_ and move on to Arkadia more quickly...”

"Two to three people wouldn't be able to carry nearly enough for both _Trikru_ and _Skaikru,_ " Jada answers.

"But it might be enough for _Trikru,_ " Ilian says, and a conspicuous quiet falls over the room. Lief and Jada look between Clarke and Ilian, while Titus' eyes stay on Lexa. 

"If we have enough for _Trikru,_ " the Commander says quietly, and lifts the paper she's been surveying for the last few minutes. She looks up at Titus. "Is this accurate?"

His expression is grim as he nods. Not that his expression is ever all that cheery. "I am afraid so, Commander."

The tone of Lexa's voice puts Clarke immediately on edge. "If we have enough what?"

"Medicine." Lexa puts the paper down, and moves her green eyes from one face to the next. "The outbreak has depleted Polis' stores to potentially dangerous levels. Depending on how much is needed by _Trikru_ and _Skaikru,_ the city may not have enough to fend off the end of this infection." Clarke's eyes are the last that she meets, and even as she does she addresses Ilian: "Does Shallow Valley have any to spare?"

"We...might," the ambassador answers haltingly. "We had a good summer in the valley. It could be negotiated, but it will take—"

"Let me guess," Clarke finishes for him, not even bothering to hide the exasperation in her voice, "time?" Ilian nods and Clarke sighs. "It doesn't matter. The disease has abated in Polis. We don't need to keep all the medicine here, it isn't essential to recovery - it only expedites the process. That is now far more essential elsewhere than it is here, what _Trikru_ and _Skaikru_ need _is_ time. We can keep enough medicine for the most serious cases and send the rest."

"And if in the meantime there is a resurgence, it will spread like wildfire through the city," Titus answers with just as much of an edge in his voice. "Forgive me, _Wanheda,_ I know that your healing skills are themselves impressive, but you have said yourself _Skaikru_ has little experience in these things. If our healers are worried about a further outbreak, I will defer to their expertise."

"And are they?" Lief asks, drawing attention back to him. "Worried about a further outbreak?"

Titus folds his hands into the sleeves of his robes. "It is a possibility," he answers.

"It's a possibility that there will be an outbreak, or it's a possibility that the healers are concerned?" Clarke's eyebrow rises to her hairline. "Because if it's the latter, I'm happy to ask them myself."

"That would be wise," Lexa says, and looks at Titus. "I want to see Carlisle. Sooner rather than later."

The Flamekeeper sighs in response. "I will have him sent for, Commander. But the fact remains that even if we do not need the medicine, we have no way of getting it to them. Even if a small party can get through the snow, they cannot be everywhere at once. The outlying villages and Arkadia will have to wait days to get what little they can carry."

"A ship would be able to carry much more," Jada says lowly, which draws Titus's ire to her.

"And a ship will only be able to get them so far," he answers. "The smaller rivers will be frozen by now, you know that as well as I. Even if you could sail south, you will still have to walk west. And that lands us in the same exact position we are in now."

"Do you have a solution with all this naysaying, Titus?" Lexa asks, and there is a hint of irritation in her voice when she does. "What do you suggest we do?"

He sets his jaw and rises to his full height. "We wait."

Whatever patience Clarke previously possessed disappears. "And while we wait, people will die? That hardly sounds like a solution."

"If we send people now, _they_ may die," Titus snaps in return.

"On un-surveyed lands, without support from pathfinders or guards, a few healers might not make it," Lexa says quietly.

"Surely they could get to _Trikru_ at least," Lief asks quietly. Meeting Clarke's eye, he gives her a look that says, _I'm sorry_.

"If Indra cannot get to the other villages, there is little our supplies could do to help them." Titus looks at Lexa. "If we have pathfinders clear the roads, we could get to her as soon as tomorrow. And we could send more help."

"If the roads are truly as bad as you say, I doubt one day of work will clear it." Clarke's teeth grind together as her jaw tightens. "In the meantime, if disease spreads and can't be contained, far more people will die. _Our_ , people," she gestures a hand at Lief, who looks disturbingly grim. She can see he's upset, but the resignation is already clear in his eyes. "If there's even a chance that the disease could spread, we have to do something. It's worth the risk. You have to see that."

" _Trikru_ has medicine," Titus answers lowly, and there is an unmistakable shade of contempt in his eyes. "The way I see it, we would be risking our lives for _Skaikru_."

"Enough." Lexa, who has placed both her hands on the edge of the table and now bends over it, cuts in before Clarke can snap back. When she speaks, all attention moves to her; the room goes quiet until the Commander looks up at Lief.

"Does _Trikru_ have medicine?"

"Some, _Heda_."

"And do you know how fast the illness is spreading?"

Lief's eyes drop to the table. "We do not, _Heda_. Without access to every settlement, we can only speculate."

Lexa looks at Clarke now, and Clarke does not like the look in her eye. It's still her, it's still her Lexa, but she looks...apologetic. "Do we know how fast the illness is spreading in Arkadia?"

"No, I don't." Clarke swallows, hard. "I haven't been able to get any communications through since the first. But I do know there's a sickness, and I know we aren't prepared or trained to deal with something like what Polis has been through. Every hour could make a difference."

The Commander nods in response, her eyes falling to the table. Silence reigns again as though everyone can tell that a judgement is about to be rendered - and indeed, a moment later, it has.

"Without more information, there is little that we can do," Lexa says, standing straight again. She folds her hands behind her back and, though she wears only her training clothes, her shoulders clearly bear the mantle of the Commander. "We cannot risk valuable medicine or the lives and expertise of our healers at so vulnerable a time. When we have a runner from Indra, we will know the way is passable and I will send aid. Until then, I want our pathfinders working double shifts to clear the way to _Trikru_. Lief," she turns to him, and the ambassador stands at attention, "tell Indra to focus her efforts on reaching Arkadia."

"Arkadia?" It's Ilian who speaks now, a frown on his face, but Lexa doesn't allow him to say more.

"The Sky People have vehicles that can traverse the snow much better than our horses can," she says. "If we can get to them, they can help us get to the villages. That is all."

A murmur of " _sha, Heda,_ " passes through the ambassadors and they file out the way they came. Clarke, however, doesn't move and Lexa focuses her gaze on her with a conspicuous lack of surprise.

She is not the only one to take notice however, and Titus continues to hover at the corner of the table. When Lexa notices, she looks over at him. "You too, Titus."

He frowns, and in Trigedasleng begins to say, " _But, Commander--"_

" _Later,_ " she answers in kind, and waves a hand at him. He frowns and exchanges a particularly stoney look with Clarke...but a moment later, he leaves.

As soon as Titus is out the door, Lexa opens her mouth to speak - but Clarke gets a word in first. "My people could die." Lexa's jaw tightens, presumably in annoyance at being cut off. "The same way people have died here, but worse. We have no medicine, no one who's trained to deal with something like this. If the disease does spread—"

"We don't even know if it's the same disease, Clarke—" Lexa starts, but she rolls her eyes as she's quickly overridden.

"It might not be, but what if it is? That's a gamble I'd prefer not to take, and it will surely be an infectious disease either way. It doesn't matter _which_ infectious disease it is, Arkadia is equally unprepared for all of them." Clarke steps around the table, closer to Lexa but not yet directly in her space. "There has to be something we can do, even if it's only to send a healer with as much medicine as they can carry. Please, Lexa."

“I am sorry, Clarke,” Lexa says, and though she is patient, she is also firm. “But as I said, I cannot take that kind of risk without more information. The way would be treacherous for a small group, even if they are trained to work in the field. There are wolves out there, and obstacles hidden beneath snowdrifts feet high.”

“So you expect me to just sit around and wait?” Clarke can feel her fingernails digging into her own palms as her hands tighten into fists. “While every minute they don’t have medicine or help, a disease could be spreading throughout Arkadia? I was here, day and night, helping _your_ people survive. Nobody died, no one that I helped treat." Clarke can see in Lexa’s eyes that she’s made up her mind. Fine, then. “I’ve faced wolves before, and I know enough to help my people.” There, that at least breaks a crack in the Commander veneer. “I’ll go, if I have to.”

“You can’t,” Lexa says simply - but there is concern in her eyes.

“I can do whatever I want. I’d rather be here, helping them the way I said I would, but if I’m of more use to them there...” Clarke shrugs. Her expression, she’s confident, betrays little of the growing terror she’s beginning to feel. Not for herself, but for what might happen to her friends and family. Fear of all she still doesn’t know about the situation in Arkadia, and what she may find there if she waits too long. “I won’t leave them there, unaided, when I could help them. And if the only way is to go myself, then that’s what I’ll do.”

Lexa doesn’t immediately respond, and when she doesn’t Clarke turns to go.

“You haven’t navigated the forest in the snow,” she hears Lexa say behind her, but she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t stop until she hears footsteps behind her and then a hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. “Clarke, please.” When she turns, there is fear in Lexa’s eyes. “You can fight a wolf, I have no doubt. But the forest in the winter is different - the predators are hungrier, the land is unrecognizable, and if you get lost out there the air itself will kill you.

“Two days. That is all I ask. If we have no new information, if we cannot get through to them, I will send someone then.” Clarke can see her jaw flex as she gulps. “I will have them bring you then, if that is what you wish.”

Clarke releases a breath, considering. “The disease could spread to half of Arkadia by then.” She can see the desperation in Lexa’s eyes, and it makes her heart ache to reassure her. But she can’t, not now. Not with this. “One day. I’ll wait one day. If we haven’t heard more by then, at least Indra will have had a chance to clear some of the roads.”

Perhaps surprisingly, that is a deal Lexa is quick to accept. Her grip on Clarke's wrist loosens, and she steps forward into her space. “I will have my people working on it day and night,” she promises. “We can reevaluate come morning.”

Clarke nods slowly. “Fine. In the morning, then.”

Lexa nods. Her hand drops from Clarke’s wrist, and settles into her hand instead. She glances at the door, and after a moment, meeting Clarke’s eyes, she says, “I love you, Clarke.”

Clarke sighs. She grips Lexa’s hand and leans her forehead against hers, just for a few moments. Just long enough to say, “I love you too. But I can’t separate myself from my duties, not with this. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Clarke turns to go, and Lexa releases her. B  
  
efore she goes, she catches Lexa’s eyes. They look sad, but understanding, her expression sympathetic. And then Clarke is out the door.

She doesn't see Lexa for the rest of that day. When she reports to the clinic, it's to find that Carlisle isn't there; no doubt Titus had made good on his word to summon the healer as soon as possible, meaning he's likely at the tower by now. But Clarke has her assignments for the day, and so is nevertheless able to throw herself into work - the only thing that, at this point, can drive off thoughts of Arkadia.

The communicator stays in her pocket the entire time, and it buzzes twice more before the day is over. The information it provides is piecemeal, but she is grateful for every letter: her mom has martialled Arkadia's security forces to enforce a quarantine and a curfew, and sent word to Mount Weather for any helpful medicine that might be there. The doctors and nurses she has are all on notice, and only a handful of patients have thus far been determined to have whatever this illness is. They were quickly quarantined - but it's impossible, she notes, to know how many more have already been infected but don't yet show symptoms.

By the time the last communication has come in, Clarke is on her way back from working in the kitchens. She spent far longer there than usual, asking Tera for whatever tasks the cook could come up with for her to perform. Tera gave her a few concerned glances now and again, but didn't ask for an explanation, for which Clarke is grateful. 

Eventually though, Tera has enough of Clarke getting underfoot and shoos her away with an extra large helping of dinner. She tries to eat, but can only stomach a few bites. Pip, ever helpful, happily eats up the majority of her leftovers.

It proves, somewhat predictably, difficult for Clarke to fall asleep. She doesn't even try for most of the first half of the night, and later when she does manage to fall into a light sleep it's only for an hour or two at a time. Which makes waking up to the sun, already high and shining through her window, all the more surprising. It can't be more than midmorning, but even so it's later than she normally rises. Clarke quickly washes up and changes, sparing a moment to give Pip a pat, before heading out with the destination of Lexa's throne room. The Commander would be done with training by now, and should have received a report from _Trikru_ on the progress of clearing the roads. Or she hasn't - but either way, Clarke intends to find out.

When she arrives at the throne room, however, the doors are closed and the guards won't let her in. The Commander isn't here, they say, and they cannot let anyone in while she's absent. Halfway certain that Lexa is merely hiding inside and getting her guards to do her dirty work - it wouldn't be the first time that Lexa has avoided her - she berates them until at last one opens the door for her to see that it is, indeed, empty. 

That does give Clarke pause, but only until she considers the possibility that training has gone over time. And that if Lexa is indeed hiding, Clarke knows exactly where she would go. Then she's off down the lift and into the courtyard. 

"Clarke!" She doesn't make it five steps outside the tower doors before hearing her name, and she spots Ronnie running through the snow right for her. "Clarke, I'm so glad you're here. You're a healer, right? You have to help Billie, I think she's hurt!"

That stops Clarke in her tracks, instantly both concerned and confused. "Who's Billie?"

"It's this - dog, that sometimes hangs around after training. Some of the Nightbloods feed her some of their lunch, but when she came today she was limping." He points back out the courtyard gate, into the streets beyond. "She went that way. If we go now, we might still catch her - can you help?"

"Maybe, but animals aren't really—"

She hasn't gotten more than two syllables out before Ronnie starts running in the direction he pointed, waving behind him at her. "Great, come on!" Clarke rolls her eyes and races after him.

It takes them a considerable amount of time: for an animal who's injured, this Billie is quite elusive. Ronnie manages to track her paw prints through the snow, but each time they draw close - catching a glimpse of a tail, or seeing her across a long alleyway - she bounds off out of sight again. Time ticks away and Clarke's annoyance grows; they're halfway across the city and over an hour into the search when at last they come to a small square, no more than a collection of quiet doorways across a four foot space, and find her.

Billie turns when she hears them approach, a big, thick dog that, though low to the ground, ripples with muscle beneath short grey fur. Intelligent brown eyes land on Ronnie...and her tail begins to wag. She barks a greeting, and bounds to him - with no limp to speak of.

"Ronnie..." The boy in question giggles as Billie laps at his face with her tongue. Clarke moves to stand next to the pair and eyes Billie's paws, as if that will somehow illuminate an injury that clearly isn't there. "Billie appears to be fine."

"Yeah! Would you look at that," he says, as though there is nothing at all the matter with that assessment. He scratches Billie behind the ear until she grows more interested in Clarke, and leaves him to come sniff at her hand. "Guess she wasn't limping after all - though it really looked like she was."

Clarke has to take a step back from the force of Billie's body as it hits her. She bends down the way Ronnie did and pats her head awkwardly, attempting in vain to avoid Billie's slobbering tongue. "Well she looks fine to me. Let me know later if you notice..." she frowns again and this time Ronnie looks a little sheepish, as if he can read her thoughts.  
  
"Was Billie ever actually limping?" he opens his mouth and Clarke puts up a finger, effectively silencing him. "Don't lie to me, Ronnie."

The Nightblood deflates, his shoulders slumping and head tipping down. There's guilt written on his face when he looks up at her and, shrugging, admits, "She did come for lunch...but no. She wasn't."

"Why would you tell me she was, then? We've wasted over an hour, when I could've already left..." Clarke's expression darkens and Ronnie takes a small step back. He looks up and to the right, as if he'd heard something in the complete silence of the street. "Lexa told you to do this, didn't she?"

He taps his fist idly against his hip, and continues to try to avoid her eyes. The guilt on his face is still more than evident, however. "She didn't tell me to find Billie," he mutters, eyes on the dog's still wagging backside.

The noise Clarke makes in the back of her throat makes Billie's ears perk up in surprise. " _Where is she?"_

"Uh - in the tower, I think." The fist that was tapping his thigh goes up behind his head, and he scratches at the back of his neck. "That's where she went after training, anyway...are you mad?"

"I am mad," Clarke says, and she can feel her blood start to race from the adrenaline pushing through her veins, "but not at you. I know you have to follow orders." Clarke gives Billie a final pat before standing. "But we _will_ talk about this later." Ronnie looks equally as nervous as he is shamefaced, which at any other time would probably draw a chuckle from Clarke. As it is, she doesn't have the time or the temperament - she turns on her heel and runs back to the tower, intending to go straight to her room to pack. Assuming Lexa hasn't come up with any other asinine ways to waylay her, she can be on the way to _Trikru_ within the hour.

By the time she gets on the lift, she has a repeating track of all the words she'll have for Lexa playing in the back of her head. Her annoyance and anger at the other woman builds with each loop it plays, such that it's all that she can do to not immediately explode when she gets off the lift, turns the corner to the stairs, and nearly walks smack into her on the landing. Not that Lexa gives her that chance; as soon as she sees Clarke, she holds up a scroll.

"We have news," she says, and descends the last few steps, turning the corner to head to the throne room.

Clarke stares after her for a moment, her eyes wide with a mixture of anger and disbelief, before Lexa's words have time to process - and then she's following the Commander into the throne room, not two paces behind her. "You can't just..." Clarke heaves a frustrated sigh, but her desire for any new information wins out. "What news?"

" _Trikru_ has made it through to Arkadia." The Commander sweeps into the room and heads straight for the table set up in the center. A moment later, the sound of hurried footsteps announces Lief's arrival.

"Commander," he says quickly, "Have you heard—?"

Lexa, now facing the door, holds up her scroll in response. "They're through."

"They are," he answers, and there's relief clearly written on his face. " _Skaikru_ was working from their end as well - they're using their machines to help clear the way to the other villages. Have we cleared the way from Polis?"

"Not yet," Lexa says, "But we are making progress."

Under other circumstances, Clarke might have even smiled at that. She’s sure Raven was working overtime to get any and all methods of snow removal up and running as efficiently as possible - and the fact they’re helping _Trikru_ and the neighboring villages is heartening to hear. Every way, no matter how small, they can show that they’re a part of this world now is important. But as pleased as she is, the feeling barely makes her lips twitch.

“At least _Trikru’s_ healers may be able to help in Arkadia, if even through advice on how to treat the illness,” Lief nods at that, “but it won’t matter if we still can’t get medicine to them.”

"I have ordered a recounting of our stores, and asked Carlisle to make an assessment of our needs." Lexa's eyes settle on her, and though they are no doubt their usual impenetrable selves to others, Clarke can see a modicum of hesitation in her eyes. Her foul mood isn't lost on the Commander it seems, and it has Lexa on edge. "He was to meet with the heads of the other clinics yesterday and today, and will have an answer for me this afternoon."

Clarke has at least enough awareness to restrain herself from outright yelling at Lexa. Barely. “I can only hope the roads are cleared by the morning. _Given the late hour_ ,” Clarke doesn’t even attempt to make the phrase less pointed, accusation clear in her voice, “I suppose there’s nothing more for me to do than help Carlisle in his assessment.”

Lexa nods, and says carefully, "You do not intend to leave?"

She could. She half intends to, if only to spite Lexa. But that’s absurd, and she knows it. At this point, she would never make it to _Trikru_ before nightfall, not even if she ran the entire way. She might not even get close, and as determined as she may be, Clarke isn’t foolish enough to knowingly put herself in a situation where she’s forced to navigate a foreign, snow covered forest. In darkness, no less.

“Not today,” is all of her thoughts she conveys aloud.

Assured to some degree by her answer, Lexa turns her attention to Lief. "I want to hear every update that comes through immediately. I will let you know as soon as the road is clear, and we can begin planning a response."

 _"Sha, Heda,_ " Lief says, and puts his fist over his heart. "I will write to Indra so we can begin coordinating our needs."

He turns to leave. Meaning only Lexa and Clarke remain in the room. As soon as he's gone, and without looking away from Clarke, Lexa calls to the guards flanking the entrance in Trigedasleng: " _Shut the door._ "

"Did you seriously order Ronnie to distract me until it was too late for me to leave?" Clarke doesn't wait to hear the doors slam shut, though they do in short order. " _Ronnie?_ I can't decide if I'm more angry that you purposefully wasted my time or that you dragged Ronnie down into this scheme with you! Actually, I do know which I'm more angry about. You can't just get the Nightbloods or your guards or anyone else who's beholden to follow your orders to trick me into doing what you want!"

"It was not the kindest of moves," Lexa acknowledges, and it's clear from the resignation in her tone and on her face that she saw this conversation coming from a mile away, "and I am not proud of it. But we received word during the night that _Trikru_ had started clearing the way to Arkadia, and I knew we were unlikely to have an update before morning. I also knew that would be unsatisfying to you, as would our progress clearing the road south.

"To be clear," Lexa holds up a finger, stopping Clarke from launching into the response she was obviously preparing, "I did not intend for the distraction to make it too late for you to leave. I only wanted to buy time until we had an answer."

"So that you had something to convince me not to leave," Clarke amends, and Lexa doesn't deny it. "I don't love having my agency taken away, particularly via manipulation. Next time you can face me yourself, instead of getting a twelve year old to do it for you." Clarke closes her eyes and holds the bridge of her nose, attempting to keep her composure. "Fucking running all over the city," she mutters, "after a _dog._ "

"...he sent you chasing after a dog?" Lexa sounds amused. Sure enough, when Clarke looks at her again, she finds that the Commander has the gall to be watching her with an eyebrow raised and entertainment in her eyes.

With a glare, Clarke turns on her heel and marches for the door.

"You wouldn't have listened to me, Clarke," Lexa calls as she does. "You know this as well as I do."

"I don't," Clarke says. She turns to face Lexa, her hand on the door. "And I never will, now that you've once again found a way to make the decision for me."

Lexa frowns. "That wasn't what I—"

But Clarke doesn't stay to hear the end. Turning the knob, she shoves the door open and leaves.

Clarke storms down the hallway, out into the lift and all the way to Carlisle's clinic. It's lucky that he happens to be there, and seems to immediately recognize her mood. He quickly enlists her help gathering information from the remaining clinics in the city. Some are still dealing with an influx of patients and are understandably hesitant to part with their medicine, but most are willing to donate some if not most of their remaining stores to assist _Trikru_. Clarke doesn't mention the fact that some will be moving on to help Arkadia, but most of the clinic heads at least know of her at this point, if not are personally acquainted with her. The fact that she's the one negotiating the distribution of medicine isn't lost on those that know her, but none even so much as hesitate to hand it over. Even if they personally would disagree with Lexa's decision to help Arkadia, Clarke thinks, they're still healers. Helping people in need comes before politics.

By the evening, they've amassed enough medicine and even a few volunteers from among the younger healers to make a difference in _Trikru_ and Arkadia - if they can make it there. Clarke hasn't heard any further news about the roads. Not that she's made it easy for news to find her, as she's been running all over the city.

Assured that there is nothing waiting for her at the tower aside from sleep - and despite the exhaustion setting in to her limbs, her mind will not let her turn to that just yet - she decides to make one final round of the clinics. Those who have volunteered to go will have had time to discover anything they might be in need of, and Clarke is eager to remove any obstacle that might delay their leaving. If it can be solved tonight, it will be one less thing to deal with whenever Lexa decides the roads are safe.

She is decidedly surprised, then, to arrive at the first clinic she and Carlisle visited that day to find it a hub of activity. Healers are never idle in this city, and so it would not be surprising to see a clinic buzzing even at a late hour - but it isn't the activity of healing that fills the space as she steps in. The bodies moving back and forth aren't tending to the sick and injured, Clarke realizes; they're packing.

Her confusion only increases when her eye catches on a set of purple robes and a blood red cape. Among the bustle of jars being packed into boxes and bags, Lexa stands speaking to the clinic's head, Titus standing impassively at her side. It's clear from their dress that they're there in an official capacity, and Lexa's expression is serious as she reviews something with the lead healer...meaning it is Titus who notices Clarke first. With hands in the sleeves of his robes, he simply watches her with cool eyes.

The distance between Lexa and herself is short, but littered with half-packed bags, opened boxes and people running back and forth. Most recognize Clarke and give her a nod or a smile - one, a healer named Clara, punches Clarke in the arm in a decidedly Raven-like way - but none waste time to stop and talk. All of which means it takes Clarke a minute or two just to get within speaking distance of them.

"Titus," Clarke acknowledges him and he nods, his eyes totally impassive. Her voice draws Lexa's attention and the Commander turns to face her. "Lexa, what's going on? It's already evening..." Lexa's green eyes turn the littlest bit soft as they alight on Clarke, but otherwise she looks every inch the Commander. Clarke hasn't seen Lexa in her full Commander regalia since the night she came to Clarke's room... the image now, despite the circumstance, makes Clarke's stomach drop. She shakes her head and clears her throat, as if physically ridding herself of the feeling. "Are the roads clear?"

"Not quite," the Commander answers, and she nods to Titus. He quickly takes up the conversation with the healer, leaving Lexa free to take Clarke a few paces away. They watch as a team of healers pack up the same medicine Clarke had worked to procure just hours ago.

"I am anticipating that we will be through by midday tomorrow," Lexa continues, folding her hands behind her back as she stands beside Clarke. "As such, I have ordered that all who will be traveling be ready to leave at first light. With any luck, by the time our healers and their caravan reach where the pathfinders are now, they will have gotten through to _Trikru_."

"Meaning they'll get there twice as fast," Clarke says, a twinge of surprise in her voice. "That's...a good idea. I hadn't thought of that."

Lexa inclines her head, but there's the tiniest bit of haughty amusement in her eyes. "I do have those on occasion, it turns out. 

"But much of the help they will bring will be because of you. You did well to collect as much medicine as you have." She tips her head towards the bags that are already packed. "It's more than I anticipated."

"The heads of the other clinics assured me they could spare all of it." Clarke moves out of the way of a particularly harried looking young man. "Even if there's another outbreak in Polis, there should be enough left for us to treat everyone. Though I doubt that will be the case. At least as of this afternoon, there were no new cases at any of the clinics in the city."

"That is a relief," Lexa nods, and looks at Clarke. "I have been assured that preparations are well in hand, and the healers are coordinating with their escort. It seems that there is little more to be done tonight."

"It appears so!" Whether it's just that exhaustion has finally caught up to her, or the look in Lexa's eyes - concerned, open, affectionate even now - but whatever the reason, Clarke's limbs suddenly feel heavier. Her resolve to be moving, to do something, to convince Lexa to let her go...all of it feels distant now. Suddenly she can't think of anything she'd rather do than curl into bed, preferably with Lexa beside her.

"You were right," Clarke says, and watches as Lexa's eyebrows quirk up in surprise. "It was the right choice to wait. Easier to say now, that we know when the roads will be cleared, but even so."

"It is a difficult thing to wait, when those you love are in distress," Lexa agrees. She reaches out and touches the back of Clarke's nearest shoulder. "But perhaps we should wait to discuss further. I am sure the healers would be glad to have us out of their way."

"I'm sure," Clarke agrees, even as she has to again side step to avoid being smacked by a particularly large backpack as it's swung around a shoulder. "Does that mean you're heading back? Or do you have more to see to in the city?"

The Commander shakes her head. "I will not do my people the disservice of hovering over their shoulder, though I may be tempted to. This is the first and foremost thing on my mind, and if someone I trust has assured me it's being handled, then I will leave it to them to do so."

"And who might this trusted person be?" Clarke asks, even as she suspects the answer.

"Ossa," Lexa answers, and tips her head in the direction of the lead healer. "She has volunteered to oversee preparations, and assured me that they are well on their way."

Now it's Clarke's eyebrows that betray her surprise. Ossa isn't who she would've guessed, even despite the lead healer's reputation for meticulous planning and attention to detail. She's a lot like Lexa, in that respect and several others. Clarke is surprised, but pleasantly so. If she were to assign someone to ensure a job gets done, Ossa would be at the top of her list of candidates.

"I feel better already, knowing she's in charge," Clarke says sincerely. "I worked with her a bit when the disease was first spreading, she's incredible. The other healers have a theory that she never actually sleeps. I thought it was a joke, until I heard Clara debating what sort of mutation in a person's DNA could give them the ability to function without sleep."

"It is not the same that creates Nightblood, that is certain," Lexa mutters, following Clarke's eye for a moment. "But that is all to say that I will indeed be returning to the tower. Will you join me? Or do you have other work to attend to?"

"It seems I'd be in the way, even if I could think of something to do that isn't already being done." Clarke rubs her eyes absently, as if that might make them feel less heavy. The temptation to not only help, but to join those packing up to leave in the morning is strong. But she promised her people that she would stay here, and help them by forging relationships with the other clans. These healers are just as competent, if not more so, than she is - but even as obvious as the decision to stay seems now, it's with difficulty that she turns away from the chaotic scene in front of them. "Let's go."

Lexa exchanges some departing words with Ossa, and Titus follows them as far as the door. Once out in the snow covered streets, he makes some excuse and departs with a pair of guards that Clarke had paid no mind to when first arriving. Two more appear from an alley as Clarke and Lexa pass, and fall into step a few feet behind them.

The guards aren't exactly crowding them, but the crunch of boots in rhythmic time is clear behind them. After a minute or so of otherwise quiet walking, Clarke glances over at Lexa. "This must be what it felt like to live in the time of _Pride & Prejudice_. Romance in the form of supervised walks."

Lexa spares a look over her shoulder at the guards following them before - despite bearing the guise of the Commander and all its official trappings - she laughs. There's no question that it's the first time Clarke has seen the facade of the Commander shatter so completely. 

"What a relief that we are not in it, then," she says, and reaches out to tap the back of Clarke's hand with the back of hers. "Come. Let us find some place a little less supervised."

The guards stop in the foyer when they arrive, leaving Clarke and Lexa to make the trip upwards alone. There isn't much that is said between them, by way of agreeing to go to Lexa's room; they just both start walking for the staircase, and continue upwards to the lone door marked by its tongue of flame.

Clarke doesn't think much about it until they're already there, in Lexa's room. Lexa begins taking her cape and pauldron off, ridding herself of her uniform. Normally Clarke would flop into a chair and wait for her, but now the air feels charged somehow. Not with anger or contempt, but with...something. It feels wrong to act normally, at any rate, so instead she perches on the arm of one of the chairs and faces Lexa, one leg draped over the other.

"No further news from _Trikru,_ I assume?" she asks. Clarke watches Lexa's fingers as she carefully unbuttons her coat. "I haven't received any new messages from Arkadia today."

"Nothing new, no. They are continuing their work with _Skaikru_ to reach the outlying settlements." Lexa undoes the last stay on her coat and looks at Clarke as she shrugs out of it. "Your people have been generous with their time and their skill, with little thought to how the debt will be repaid. They have my gratitude."

"Better not to underestimate the value of being a good neighbor. I'm glad they've recognized that." Clarke fingers a loose string on the back of the chair. Her thoughts wander to home for the millionth time today. Wondering how her mother is holding up, whether her friends are helping _Trikru_ clear the roads or not. Which of her people might already be dead, and who may die before medicine gets to them. "At least they may be in _Trikru_ territory, when the medicine arrives. They'll be able to bring help home faster if the four wheelers are already there."

"That is true." Lexa inclines her head. She gathers her coat, cape, and pauldron in her arms, and is about to bring them into the other room to put away...but she stops. Looking at Clarke with trepidation in her eyes, she says, "They would be able to transport individuals easier as well, I would imagine. Would you...like to go with them? I can have you added to the roster, so you can leave tomorrow morning with the others."

Clarke rubs at her eyes again and sighs. "I would like to go with them, but I know at this point leaving would only be selfish. I won't get there any faster than the other healers, and my work here isn't done. I would be going against what I told them when I decided to stay, which is that being here, away from them - even if there are consequences - is worth it." The piece of thread she'd been worrying between her fingers pulls suddenly from the chair and snaps. "Though I may destroy some of your furniture until I hear news from them."

Lexa smiles at that. "It has seen worse, I am certain," she says, and there is fondness in her eyes. But then she remembers what she was doing and heads into the bedroom to put her extra layers of clothes away.

"Are you hungry?" She calls back. "I confess, I don't know if Carlisle would have stopped for dinner..."

Clarke hasn't even thought about food since...she winces when she realizes she in fact hasn't eaten since yesterday. "I think I've actually surpassed hunger, which means I should probably eat something."

"Press the buzzer. I'll have Elena send something up."

By the time Elena appears at the door, Lexa has stowed her things and stoked the fire with fresh wood. Dinner is long over with for the evening, but that doesn't prevent Elena from cobbling together a meal of leftovers and a skin of wine. Lexa mostly ignores the food when it arrives, but she pours a small cup of wine for herself and for Clarke before sitting down with her by the fire. A streak of orange across the carpet announces Pip's interest in the food before she shoots up onto the chair arm beside Clarke, nose and whiskers aquiver. Lexa is apparently too tired to notice, or perhaps to care.

"We should talk, Clarke," she says, after giving her some time to eat.

“We should.” Clarke settles back in her chair, one hand holding her cup of wine and the other absently patting Pip as the cat fusses over where exactly to settle on her thighs. She doesn’t continue, but watches Lexa expectantly. If the Commander had hoped this would be easy, she’s going to be very disappointed.

Lexa's lips press into a thin line; whether or not she expected ease, she certainly expected more of a response than that. "You're still upset with me, then."

"I am upset that you got a kid to do your dirty work." Clarke clutches the cup in her hand a little tighter, but forces the hand on Pip to remain relaxed. The cat will just as easily jump away if she senses Clarke is unhappy, and having Pip with her feels oddly comforting. Like she has an ally in this, however unwitting that ally is. "You can't just trick me into doing what you want when you disagree with me, Lexa."

“I prefer _strategy_ to _trick_ ," Lexa answers. She folds one leg over the other and eyes Clarke as she continues - quickly, before Clarke can rise to that bait - "It was as you said. I could not be just myself in this. I had to consider what the needs of the Coalition were, and the Coalition needed an ambassador from _Skaikru_. You would have done the same, if our positions were reversed."

“I would...” Clarke’s instinct is to resolutely deny that accusation. She swallows the impulse and starts again. “You weren’t worried about having an ambassador from _Skaikru,_ don’t disrespect my intelligence. You were worried about me. Which I understand, but is rather hypocritical of you, given the lecture I received the other day about having to let you be in danger ‘when it’s necessary,’” Clarke does, in fact, physically pantomime quotation marks. “My leaving might have been necessary, and your strategy to prevent me going had nothing to do with _Skaikru_ needing an ambassador.”

"When _Skaikru_ can provide essential help to my people in a time like this, I absolutely need an ambassador," Lexa answers, "in order to negotiate getting that help. And there was nothing 'necessary,'" she makes the finger-quotes right back, "in your leaving at that time. I wouldn't have fought you if there were. But the only reason for you to leave then was to assuage your own anxiety. I needed you here."

"So you're saying that if we knew the roads would be impenetrable for days, and I volunteered to go - to provide necessary medicine and medical knowledge - you wouldn't have fought me on leaving?" Pip paws at Clarke's legs, as if that will somehow make her legs a more comfortable bed, and Clarke winces as the cat's claws dig into her skin. "You would've just let me leave without argument?"

Lexa just looks at her for a beat before admitting, "Perhaps not without argument."

Clarke tips her cup back and drinks the remaining wine. She leans forward, just enough to set it down on the table and then falls back with a sigh. "Right. Nor would I have expected you to, I would do the same. But we could have discussed it further before I left, as we agreed to do, instead of you ordering Ronnie to have me running around the city for half the morning."

"Would you have listened?" Lexa asks, her head now tipped to the side. Though the question implies that she knows the answer, it sounds honest enough. "If I did? If I had asked you to stay a few hours more, would you have taken the time to debate it with me?"

"It's hard to say now, given that I was robbed of the opportunity." Clarke can't help the frustration from creeping into her voice, though she tries to temper it. "I honestly don't know the answer, but I think I would have at least heard your side and weighed it against my own. I'm not angry that I didn't ultimately go, or even that it turns out the right decision was to wait. I'm happy that the problem is being solved, no matter how right or wrong I turned out to be about the solution. What I'm angry about is not having the chance to make a decision. You manipulated me," - Lexa raises her hand to interject, and Clarke amends before she can - "or at least the situation, such that I had no say in my own actions. I think you can see why I might dislike that."

Whatever Lexa's objections were going to be deflate. She taps her fingertips twice against the arm of the couch, her eyes on the fire while she organizes her words. "Of course I can. I knew you would be; saying otherwise would be an insult both to you and me. But I could not trust that you would listen to me." For the first time, guilt appears in Lexa's green eyes, and she dips them a little lower. "Or that you had not already made your decision. Flame help me if you had already decided to leave."

Clarke can't help a small smile from tugging at her lips at that. "Am I really so impossible to reason with?"

"Not always, no," Lexa answers, and when her eyes lift to Clarke again, she quirks a small smile as well. "Only when you think you're right."

"I am always right, Lexa." That earns Clarke a chuckle from the Commander. The sound makes Clarke's stomach flip a little. "I understand, you know. Whether you're willing to admit that you were scared or not, I know I would be terrified at the idea of you leaving like that. Even if you'd convinced me it was necessary. I'm sorry I've made you feel like you need to resort to tricking me into things, but please don't do that again."

"I maintain that it wasn't a wholly selfish concern," Lexa says, holding up a finger. She then taps that finger against the couch arm again before pulling it back into a loose fist. She rests her knuckles against the cushioned arm and goes on, "But I will not pretend it was not selfish at all. The thought of you going out there, whether alone or with a guide, worried me. You remember _pauna;_ we could hardly handle her together in summertime, when she was merely angry. Imagine her when she is cold, and hungry as well. I do not know that we would escape.

"And you may always be right, Clarke." Now Lexa smirks at her, a full on crooked grin of an expression that is equal parts teasing, haughty, and amused: "But I am _never_ wrong."

Clarke rolls her eyes. "Well that bodes well."

"It does seem to be the source of much of our conflict."

"Thankfully," Clarke says as she shifts cautiously beneath Pip, who has finally settled into a furry donut on her thighs, "loving you tempers some of that frustration."

Lexa's expression softens with affection, her smirk turning into a smile. "It does indeed. And I am sorry that I...artificially limited your choices. I will speak to you first, next time."

"Thank you." Clarke makes an exasperated sound as Pip fidgets and once again digs her surprisingly sharp claws into her leg. "Alright, enough," she mutters and picks the cat up as gently as she can. Pip manages to stay more or less as curled as she was in Clarke's arms, but when Clarke gets up and deposits her alone on the chair, the cat immediately bounds to the ground and off into the room.

Lexa chuckles again as Clarke falls into the couch next to her with an _oof_. "This is much better. Thank you," she repeats, and leans over to kiss Lexa on the cheek. "I understand why you did it, like I said, but I'd appreciate us having a discussion next time. However heated it may be. Besides, I don't think poor Ronnie could handle coming between us again. I've never seen him look so anxious."

The Commander blinks at her, surprise in her eyes. "He was distressed by this?"

"Well yeah, he doesn't seem like the type of kid to enjoy lying." Clarke inclines her head, confused. "Why do you seem surprised?"

"Hm." Lexa lifts an arm up and around Clarke's shoulders. It's a loose hold but, after the political stress of the last few days, Clarke finds herself glad for its casual familiarity. "I did not expect that this assignment would test his loyalty so. Perhaps I should keep a better eye on my Nightbloods around you."

Clarke scoffs even as she snuggles closer into Lexa's side. "Ronnie is my friend. He doesn't have to like the orders he's following to be a good warrior, so long as he follows them. Besides, lying to _Wanheda_ seems almost as bad as disobeying _Heda_. Kind of hard to blame him for being stressed."

That draws a chuckle from Lexa, who tips her head down to rest atop Clarke's. "A fair point. I'll have to be more conscious of that in the future; wouldn't want to frighten one of my most promising students without good reason."

They sit quietly for a time, the crackle and snapping of the fire and the occasional scamper of the cat the only sound. Lexa's thumb runs a gentle arc against Clarke's upper arm, and Clarke finds herself just listening to the Commander's breathing. Then, softly, Lexa says, "I think we handled that relatively well. All things considered."

Clarke barely nods, knowing Lexa will feel the slightest movement. "I agree. I didn't realize how normal this has become, but I missed you."

Lexa shifts her head, and Clarke can feel her lips press to her hair. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

"You couldn't kick me out at this point even if you tried." Clarke does manage to lift her head to look at Lexa, but with effort. Without realizing it, she'd begun to drift asleep. "You've fed me and now I'm exhausted. I think I'd pass out before even making it to my room."

"Mm. Well, we can't have _Wanheda_ sleeping in corridors - better to stay here." Lexa tips her head in the opposite direction, making it easier for Clarke to see her face - and vice versa. "Do you want to turn in? It is already quite late."

Clarke does have enough energy to reach out and cup Lexa's neck, gently pulling them together until their lips touch. A quiet and pleased _mmmm_ sound escapes from Clarke's throat. "Much as I'd like to do that all night," she says, and gives Lexa one last kiss before nestling back into her shoulder, "I think turning in is a good idea."

Lexa makes a sympathetic sound in the back of her throat and presses a kiss to the top of Clarke's head. "Come," she says, and gives Clarke's shoulders a squeeze. "Let's get in bed, then."

Clarke follows her into the bedroom and stumbles through changing into pajamas - a set of which she's taken to leaving in Lexa's room, just in case - and otherwise readying for bed. Though Lexa props herself up with a book, Clarke has no interest in anything but sleep; she curls up against the Commander's side and slips into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. As of yesterday, we have officially written the final sentence of this fic. The last sentence of Part 3.
> 
> That means, after 2 years (almost to the day), What We Deserve is a finished series. All that's left is to share it with you all - and we are SO EXCITED to do so.


	9. Midwinter Night's Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, time for some incredibly indulgent fluff.

More updates about Arkadia roll in over the following days. The contagion did not spread as quickly across the city as it did in Polis, despite the populations being crammed equally close together. The parts of the Ark that make up the hub of Arkadia contained facilities that were quickly and effectively set up to quarantine those suspected of having the infection - and, after having the chance to study the medicine _Trikru_ sent along to them alongside the results of patient tests, Abby's team determined that it was indeed the infection of a small microbe. _It's the strangest thing_ , she wrote to Clarke as the dust was settling, _Radiation spiked during the storm. Could the microbe thrive in it? Come with it on the wind?_

When all was said and done, the assistance from Grounder healers and medicine helped the fifteen cases experienced by _Skaikru_ resolve themselves. Prior to that, it was all Abby and her doctors could do to keep the illness at bay. In the time it took for a solution to arrive, two people - one made vulnerable by advanced age, the other by prior immunity issues - had died.

Clarke can't help but blame herself - despite many pointed remarks from Lexa to the contrary - at least a little for their deaths, but she doesn't dwell on it. It's unlikely she could have saved patients that were so vulnerable even if she had run all the way to Arkadia herself, and the important thing is that it was contained with minimal loss to life. Still, for those first few days, Clarke feels a bit like a caged animal for the first time since deciding to remain in Polis.

Reports from _Trikru_ confirm that the illness was stopped from spreading just a day after the healers and medicine arrived. A handful had already died, but the illness began in more populated villages and didn't take hold long enough to spread in remote settlements. Several healers choose to remain behind for a time, to be sure the illness has gone, but the rest return after a week, successful in their mission. Lief and Clarke keep each other updated and after the healers return, they take an evening to themselves to relax with a skin of wine. Jada, apparently by coincidence, happens upon them and also just so happens to be carrying a bottle of whiskey with her - apparently _Floukru_ officials are drawn to the stuff - and offers to share it with them. The next morning brings a particularly rough training session with Ronnie smacking her knees twice as often as usual.

During the last week, Clarke has heard mentions of something called "Midwinter" but hadn't paid it much attention. But now that her attention is back on Polis, she seems to hear the word everywhere she goes. As far as she can tell it's some kind of celebration - or perhaps a kind of spring? Clarke can't imagine how that could be, given that they're only halfway through winter, and eventually her curiosity gets the better of her.

" _What is this celebration I hear everyone talking about?"_

It's later than usual for her drop in to the kitchen. Much of the hustle and bustle of the day has abated, only a few kids left behind to wash pots alongside Clarke while Tera sorts out what remains of the kitchen behind them. The older woman pauses what she's doing just out of the corner of Clarke's eye, frowning at her and the question. Clarke runs through the Trigedasleng words she'd just spoken, thinking for a moment that she'd gotten them wrong. Tera has insisted she speak in Trigedasleng since she found out Clarke was learning and though she has been a great help, she isn't the most forgiving of teachers.  
  
But no, Clarke is confident she spoke correctly. So she adds:

" _This...Midwinter._ " It does take her a moment to remember the Trigedasleng word she's been hearing others say. " _I can tell it's some kind of party. But is it actually the middle of winter?"_

The look on Tera's face is, Clarke quickly learns, not one of befuddlement but one of exasperation. " _You Sky People,_ " she sighs, shaking her head as she goes back to work. " _A_ _ir in your home, and in your heads. Yes, it is indeed the middle of winter - it's the longest night of the year_."

" _So you celebrate the longest night of the year?_ " Clarke ignores the jab at her - and her people's - intelligence. It's the third such comment made by the cook this evening and certainly won't be the last, if past experience is any indication. " _Why?"_

" _Because it would be miserable, otherwise!"_ Tera laughs. There's a clatter somewhere behind Clarke, and a moment later the older woman is at her elbow, dumping more utensils into the trough of water in front of Clarke. She puts a hand on the edge of the trough and leans against it, adding, " _And besides - it means that summer is coming again. The days will only get longer and warmer from here."_

Clarke shakes her head good naturedly at the now mountain-high pile of utensils. She'd just finished cleaning enough pots that stacked together they'd probably equal the height of Ronnie - but she doesn't complain as she picks up the first fork and begins to scrub it. " _Warm days are still at least two months off,_ " Clarke thinks aloud, " _but I see your point. I wouldn't mind an excuse to ignore the other ambassadors and celebrate for a day. Even if it is celebrating.._." she fumbles for the word, but thinks she lands on the right one when she finishes, " _darkness_."

" _Would you rather mourn darkness? That sounds miserable,_ " the cook chuckles, and taps her hand against the basin. " _I_ _t is a more intimate thing than what you have seen previously; most here won't celebrate it. But out there,_ " she waves at the window, " _there will be dinners, drinking, gift giving._ "

" _Why wouldn't people here celebrate it?"_

Tera shrugs. " _It_ _'s intimate. Family, friends, lovebirds, that sort of thing. How many people in the tower have any of those, do you think?"_

Clarke looks up, considering, and then shrugs in turn. " _You're right, I doubt most people here have anyone that fits that description._ " Somehow the word _lovebirds_ really registers in Clarke's mind only now, and she feels a slight blush creep into her cheeks. " _What do people normally give each other?"_

Tera shrugs yet again, and turns to continue sorting out the kitchen. " _Depends on who they are, what they can get their hands on. It's usually something they need, I would say. Not needed like socks, though, something a little more..."_

" _Thoughtful?"_ Clarke supplies.

" _Thoughtful,"_ Tera responds, and though Clarke can't see her, she hears approval in her voice. " _A good word for it_."

Clarke's makes a _hmmm_ sound as she thinks that over. It doesn't seem as though Midwinter is a huge celebration, certainly not like the First Fall, but even so she has no way of knowing if Lexa would celebrate it. Given her station, it seems unlikely that she would - which is good for Clarke, because she has no idea what she would get the Commander if she did have to find her a gift. What could the Commander of the Twelve Clans possibly need?

When the day arrives, it proves Tera's prediction true: business as usual prevails in the tower, even as decorations appear in the streets below. Ronnie chatters about the celebration during training, but Lexa - quietly moving through her exercises on the other end of the room - doesn't mention it. There are murmurs about it as she passes through the halls, and during her shift at the clinic she sees a few of the healers make quiet, private exchanges of wrapped packages. But when she returns to the tower to meet with Lief, it becomes apparent that being separated from their families is a little more than the ambassadors can take; as dinner approaches, Ilian appears at the door of their meeting room to say that he and some of the others were going to have a small celebration together.  
  
Clarke joins them and passes a few pleasant hours chatting with her fellow ambassadors as people, not as politicians. Even Cole, the _Azgedan_ ambassador, joins in, showing a far more human side of himself than he normally demonstrates.

By the time she returns to her room to deliver table scraps to Pip, Clarke is all but sure that Lexa has forgotten about - or otherwise elected to ignore - this holiday, as she had supposed. That is, until she notices a package sitting on her bed, wrapped in thick brown paper and with a note sitting on top.

 _For your practice,_ it reads, _Ai Etwai._

Absurdly, Clarke blushes at the endearment as she hears it in her head, soft and sincere, in Lexa's voice. Of course Lexa would leave her a gift and then not mention it for the entire day. Why Clarke would have assumed any differently she now has no idea. Mumbling to herself about the ridiculousness of the whole thing and how unnecessary a gift is, she pulls the brown paper off the box - and then stops mumbling altogether.

Arranged against one side of the slim, rectangular box is a set of five small jars that she quickly identifies as containing oil paints: one in red, yellow, green, blue, and white. Beside them, a set of brand new, differently sized paint brushes, wooden handles smooth and bristles clean.

A memory of being "gifted" a box of watercolors when she was first taken to the Mountain flashes behind her eyes - but only for a moment. That attempt at civility hadn't done much at the time other than make her angrier.  
  
This, on the other hand, feels entirely different. This feels like her parents handing her the first box of charcoal she'd ever received on her eighth birthday, or like a month after coming to Earth and finding a barely functioning pen and a half-torn piece of paper to draw on. It was the first time she'd had more than a moment to herself, and the first time she'd really felt at peace since arriving on Earth.

It feels _thoughtful_ , and just looking at the set of paints makes Clarke's throat thick. Her first instinct is to open all of the paints and test them on paper. She doesn't have much experience with oil paints, and these have to be different - everything on Earth is different. But instead, she carefully closes the box. There's a small latch on the front that clicks down, preventing the box from opening on its own and spilling the contents, and once that's shut she's nearly halfway to the door. Per usual, she doesn't think much about it, only realizes just before arriving at her destination that she's headed for Lexa's room.

Lexa doesn't look surprised to see her when she opens the door. Her eyes flick immediately to the box in her hand and back up, and she steps back to let Clarke in the room. "Hello, Clarke."

“You could warn a person when gift giving occasions are coming up, you know.” Clarke hears the click of the door closing behind her as she’s now halfway into the room. “All these lessons about Grounder culture and learning Trigedasleng, and you couldn't just mention that Midwinter involves gifts?”

"I did not want you to feel pressured," Lexa says from behind her, and Clarke can practically hear her shrug from where she lingers by the door. "And besides, I wanted it to be a surprise."

“Well I...” Clarke leans against the couch arm and huffs. “I would’ve felt pressured, I guess. But not in a bad way, I wish I had something for you.”

"Oh?" Lexa's eyebrows go up, and she grins. She joins Clarke by the couch, looping her arms loosely around her hips. "And what would you have gotten for me?"

“If I had known what to get you, I would’ve gotten you something!” Clarke nearly throws her hands up in exasperation but at the last second retracts her arms and clutches the box to her chest, suddenly afraid she might’ve flung it across the room without thinking. “I don’t know what the leader of the known world could possibly want. Or need, for that matter.”

"Well if that is what you were concerned about, you've already brought me what I want and need," Lexa answers, her smile shifting into more of a shit eating grin as she leans in to kiss Clarke.

Clarke puts a finger to Lexa’s lips, effectively stopping her a few inches from Clarke’s face. “That is _not_ what I meant, nor is it the point of gift giving, and you know it.” She sighs, her fingers clutching the box to her chest inadvertently tighter. “This is amazing. I already can’t wait to use them. I hadn’t even realized how much I missed painting until I opened it.”

Lexa eyes soften, a little of the self satisfaction from moments ago replaced with sympathy. “I don’t know what I could give you,” Clarke tries to explain, “that would...mean the same, to you. But maybe I should know...”

"Please, Clarke - this is exactly what I was trying to avoid!" Lexa's hands settle on her jaw, cradling Clarke's face between them. The sympathy in her eyes remains, but it's tempered by the affection now in her smile. "I don't know what I would ask for, to be entirely frank, so how could you know? There is so much more to you. You are a healer, and an artist, and I..." Her eyes dip self-consciously, and her shoulders lift in the smallest of shrugs. "I am the Commander."

“You are not just the Commander, though. Not to me.” Clarke’s fingers wrap around the hem of Lexa’s shirt and pull her closer. She presses a kiss to Lexa’s lips and it feels...stronger, somehow. More aggressive than she intends. 

It would be so easy to lose herself in that kiss, but Clarke eventually manages to pry herself away. “You’re so much more than that,” she murmurs against Lexa’s lips. “I don’t have access to books or swords, or I would know exactly what to give you -“ that earns a small smile from the Commander “- but let me try something else.”

Lexa looks confused, but doesn’t stop Clarke from stepping back. She also doesn’t stop Clarke from placing her box of paints on the table next to the chairs on the other side of the room, nor from fussing around for a large piece of parchment or even when she begins to rifle through Lexa’s books - though the confused wrinkle in her nose and forehead deepens as the minutes pass by.

"Is there something I can help you with?" She asks eventually, lingering perpetually a few paces behind Clarke.

“Yes,” and as Clarke turns she nearly runs into Lexa, she’s so close. “Yes,” she repeats, and chuckles, “you can take this,” and she hands Lexa the book she’d determined the other woman must be reading right now - it contains her favorite bookmark, and is atop the most esteemed pile of books in the room located next to her side of the bed: _Stardust_ by Neil Gaiman, it reads. “Now go sit on the couch, and read. Think you can manage that?”

"I..." Lexa looks down at the book, and then up at Clarke. The line in her forehead deepens. "I am certain that I can. What is this about?"

“Your present.”

Clarke shoos Lexa toward the couch and then takes a seat across from her on a chair. “Just read. Pretend I’m not even here,” she explains as she takes the paints out of the box and begins to organize them on the table. “Oh, water,” she mutters and gets up to find a cup and fill it, “and towels...here, good. So get comfortable,” she says over her shoulder, “because once I start you can talk but you can’t move.”

"Read and talk, but don't move an inch and somehow pretend I'm not here, staring at you," Lexa mutters. But she falls into a corner of the couch and proceeds to arrange herself against the cushions as instructed, eyeing Clarke's movements the whole time. Putting the pieces together she says, "I don't know that I'm much of a model, Clarke."

“What’s there to be good at?” Clarke shakes her head at Lexa’s stiff shoulders and back, despite her instruction and the pillows. But it’s accompanied by a fond smile. “It only matters that an artist finds something inspiring to draw. Or paint, in this case. And I can’t think of anything I’d rather look at for an extended period of time than you.” Clarke makes a small face, annoyed at herself that the sentiment didn’t come out more eloquently. “You’ll be fine, but you should try to relax.”

" _Try to relax_ ," Lexa repeats in grumbled Trigedasleng, plucking and pulling at the long sleeves of her shirt as she settles in. She props her book up against a bent knee and opens it, repeatedly glancing at Clarke from the corner of her eye as she does, and begins to read.

It takes some time - most of which Clarke spends outlining and composing anyway - but the further Lexa sinks into her book, the lower her shoulders fall. Clarke finds that if she stays quiet and makes no dramatic movements, the Commander doesn't look up. And if she doesn't look up, she isn't reminded that she's being watched, and so allows her natural body language to prevail.

Clarke hasn't actually worked with real paint in... well, a long time. She also has limited equipment at her disposal - the unused side of the piece of paper doubles as a mixing board and without an easel, she has to lean over the painting on the table, which means she has to constantly look up at Lexa for reference and back down as she draws. But despite the limitations, it's surprisingly relaxing to have a paint brush in her hand again. As she sketches an outline of Lexa's figure, along with the couch, the fire, and the beginning of the windows behind her, Clarke wonders if she'll have any trouble adding color. Once she gets to that point, however, it's clear that she needn't have worried.

Painting comes back to her as easily as writing or reading might. She doesn't think much about the colors she's using, only trusts her instincts and lets the image form itself. It's hard to look at Lexa with a critical eye, to paint her in as exact a likeness as Clarke possibly could. Every time she looks up at the Commander, now comfortably ignoring her and engrossed in her book, she feels a small pang of affection. The battle becomes less about her skill with paints and more about her ability to command herself to focus.

Even so, the image takes shape relatively quickly. Lexa is clearly relaxed at this point: one arm holding the book against an upright knee, the other thrown up around the back of the couch. Her other leg is stretched out, lazily flopped over pillows and curled in slightly. She does move occasionally, but only to turn the page and then she returns immediately back to the position she was in. Despite her protestations, it appears she can easily internalize orders.  
  
Something Clarke should keep in mind, she thinks and allows herself a smirk.

After about an hour, she's almost done. She puts the final touches on the red and yellow of the fire, attempting to imbue the flames with a soft, warm feeling as opposed to a raging one. When she does finish, she studies her work with a careful eye. Her experience drawing people is limited, and painting them even more so. It's more abstract than exact, specifically with color but surprisingly with her lines as well. The entire scene has a similar feeling as the flames - warm, relaxed.

Her sketches give her a sense of accomplishment in drawing something as she sees it, in seeing the world through her eyes laid out on a piece of paper. Maps and architectural drawings have a similar feeling, but with an added element of discovery and possibility. Painting is something different altogether, or at least this particular painting is.  
  
No one would look at the image and immediately identify Lexa, or even the room itself. It depicts a woman, reading in a comfortable space, resting and at peace. It depicts Lexa the way Clarke experiences her: warm and fiery, somehow both aloof and undeniably present. The center of the room, even as she's absorbed in a book. Like the feeling of coming back from a long journey and flopping into her favorite chair. Like home.

When Clarke looks up again after several minutes studying it, she meets Lexa's green eyes for the first time in over an hour.

The Commander hasn't moved much; she just turns her head to look at Clarke, concern in her eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Clarke grins and stretches the fingers in her right hand, suddenly aware of how stiff they've become. "I think I'm done. You can move now, if you want."

Lexa does, pulling her arm back from over the couch - slowly, betraying the ache in her joints as well - and moves both legs off the side of the couch. Sitting up, she puts her elbows on her knees and leans forward. "That was faster than I anticipated," she says. "How did it go?"

"Drawing takes longer," Clarke admits. She carefully lifts the corners of the parchment and turns it, slowly, to face Lexa. "For me, anyway. I like it, I think. Not bad, considering I haven't used paint in who knows how long."

Lexa goes to pick it up before she realizes that, with the paint still heavy and very much glistening, that may be a bad idea. She pulls her hands back and tips her head to the side as she admires it, her hair falling over one shoulder.

"It's less defined than your drawings," she says, eyes moving across the swirl of colors. Her finger moves where it hangs between her knees as though it's following the same lines. "But there are the windows, the fire..." Lexa's gaze lingers on the reproduction of her face and torso, her mouth hesitating to say, "I almost don't recognize me."

Clarke nods in agreement, watching Lexa's face intently for a reaction. "I know, it's not an exact likeness. I usually do try to replicate what I see, but this I just sort of...painted how I felt. I tried not to think too much, at least not about anything other than you." Color rises to Clarke's cheeks at the admission.

"So this is how you see me?" In short order, Clarke is not the only one blushing. Lexa looks up at her, cheeks pink, a little smile on her lips. "I look so...at peace."

"A rare sight for most people, I imagine," Clarke says, the grin returning to her face at Lexa's reaction, "but not for me. When I think of you, I don't think of you with a sword in your hand or you training. Well, sometimes I do, but those are different sorts of thoughts." Lexa's cheeks turn a darker shade of red at that. "Usually I think of you like this. Relaxed, reading. Sometimes the way you only ever smile this one, specific way when I walk in the room. It's not that being the Commander isn't a part of you, it's just that it's not the only part. Or even the best part. I like this part the best, the you I get to see when no one else is around."

Clarke falls back in the chair, her back suddenly stiff from leaning forward for so long. "Anyway, now you have a present too. A present which made your present to me immediately useful, which I hear is a hallmark of gift giving on this particular holiday." Clarke cocks an eyebrow at her own creation, a thought only just occurring to her. "Though a painting isn't exactly 'useful,' I suppose."

Lexa doesn't exactly leap to her feet - the atmosphere is too relaxed to merit that - but she rises with one quick, fluid motion and walks around the low table between them. Stopping beside Clarke's chair she catches the corner of her jaw in one hand and bends down to press a long, firm kiss to her lips. In that embrace, Clarke can feel the emotions that haven't been expressed, that perhaps Lexa can't find the words for: the warmth, affection, pleasure, and gratitude that pours off her in waves.

"It is useful as a reminder," Lexa says when she pulls away. Pink faced, breathless, she strays only far enough away to lock intense, earnest eyes on Clarke. "Of a lesson that only you could have taught, that you could have known. And in that regard, it's far more useful than anything else you could have given me."

"Well I'm happy to remind you as often as you want, if that's going to be the response every time." Clarke wraps her hands around Lexa's neck, one naturally wandering up and tangling in her hair. "Thank you," she whispers, suddenly nervous anything louder may ruin the moment, "for my gift. I love it, and you."

The smile on Lexa's lips glitters in her eyes as well, pleased and adoring and somehow feeling like it fills the whole room. She perches herself on the arm of Clarke's chair and says, without pulling away, "I am glad that you like it - and that it proved to be so immediately useful." Lexa tips her head forward, touching her forehead to Clarke's. "You are special, Clarke. It is a privilege to be by your side."

Clarke gently tilts Lexa's head back, completely unable to resist that gorgeous smile. Before their lips touch she whispers, "I'm going to remind you that you said that," and she can feel the rumble of Lexa's chuckle even as they kiss.

In the days that follow, Clarke's books gather a bit more dust than they're used to. Though the crisis of snow and sickness is largely handled, _Skaikru_ always seems to be in need of something; so there are still issues to be handled, terms to be debated, and deals to be made with the other ambassadors, leaving her with just as little free time as ever. In order for her to have time to use her paints, then, she has to borrow from time she usually dedicates to reading. Mostly she plays around with color and brush strokes on odd bits of paper, the back of a message sent to her or the corner of notes she's taken for herself. She has no time - or venue, really - to undertake any large project at the moment, but she can't seem to stop touching the brushes regardless.

Odder still than her neglect of her books, however, is the turn in the weather. Though snow had been mounting steadily for weeks now, starting with that dusting at First Fall and never quite melting, Clarke notices the icicles hanging overhead as she passes to and from the clinic have begun to weep. The sun feels brighter, hotter, and is present more often than it's not; puddles form in the streets where snow banks have begun to shed volume of their own, exposing patches of dirt and grass that hasn't seen daylight in weeks. Tera had mentioned that the days would grow longer and warmer after Midwinter, but Clarke didn't think she'd meant _right_ after.

It gets so warm, in fact, that one morning when Clarke arrives at the training room she finds it empty. At first she wonders if she somehow managed to sleep in, closely followed by concern when she realizes that she hasn't. Ronnie has missed maybe a handful of their training sessions, and it's always because of some injury that's serious enough to warrant him being forced off his feet for a day. But even as she wonders what it could be, the boy in question comes barreling through the door.

"Clarke!" He comes skidding to a halt just a few inches from her. "Sorry, I forgot you'd probably come here. We're training outside today!"

"Outside?" Clarke repeats, surprised despite the recent change in weather. "Is it really that warm?"

His face splits into a beaming grin and he nods vigorously. "Today it is. Come on! We shouldn't waste it!"

He doesn't give her a chance to go back to her room and fetch a jacket, but upon leaving the lift it becomes quickly apparent that she doesn't need one. Her boots still sink into the ground when she steps into the courtyard, but its thick, squelching mud, rather than crunchy, cold snow. In fact, aside from the occasional pile sitting in the shadow of the wall, and the small boulder that was once the towering hill beside the training pitch, there isn't a trace of white to be seen. Only mud and dull, dead grass remain.

The wind is still a little brisk, but Clarke suspects that the chill she feels will be chased away as soon as she starts moving. Sure enough, Lexa, in the midst of her own training for the morning, has already shed her jacket and left it hanging on the fence.

"Is this normal?" Clarke asks Ronnie as she picks through the wooden swords for her favorite. "The weather, I mean."

"Sort of?" He grins, tossing his own selection between his hands. "I mean, it's still winter, so. No, not in that respect. But there's always a thaw after Midwinter - some are longer, some are shorter, but it always gets warmer and then gets cold again."

"No kidding," Clarke mutters to herself. Movement across the field catches her eyes and she watches Lexa's shoulders and arm muscles tense as she moves in and out of forms. "I'm a fan," she says, this time loud enough for Ronnie to hear, and quickly clarifies, "of being able to be outside again. I've been feeling a little cooped up, just going to and from the clinic and the tower."

"I know - it's so stuffy, and dark most of the time." Ronnie catches the sword in one hand and leans in, cupping his mouth with the other. "We're trying to get _Heda_ to take us hunting."

"Really?" Ronnie attempts a sneak attack at Clarke's wrist as she's still setting up her form, but she easily blocks it. It's not the first time he's tried that. "Does she seem likely to agree to that?"

"Who knows," he answers with a shrug. "Could be some disaster creeps up and she can't leave. But we've gotten her to do it before - pack a few tents, get our horses, head out into the woods for a few days..." He makes a feint that Clarke sees right through, letting her knock the following attack away easily. "I wouldn't say it's a tradition, it hasn't happened enough times. But I look forward to it every year."

The prospect of spending a few days outside is immediately appealing to Clarke. She would be lying if she said she missed waking up every day unsure when her next meal would come, or wondering if she would be able to find shelter for any given night. But she does miss sleeping outside - even after so long in the tower, she hasn't quite gotten over feeling comfortable sleeping on the ground - and a few nights out in nature, not penned in a city, would be a welcome change.

"Well I will cross my fingers that no disasters strike in the near future." Clarke tries a feint of her own, but Ronnie skips away and dodges the attack with ease. "Think I could come along, if you do end up going?"

"You would want to come??" Ronnie looks first shocked - so much so that he almost doesn't get out of the way of Clarke's follow up attack - and then immediately overjoyed by the prospect. "Well - yeah! I mean, it's usually just the Commander and us Nightbloods, but you're _Wanheda!_ She would _have_ to let you come along. Besides, she likes you. That has to count for something."

Clarke chuckles. "You would think, wouldn't you? I'm sure I can convince her. Who knows, maybe your archery lessons will pay off and I'll actually be helpful hunting something."

"Yeah! We can hunt deer together! They tend to be more active during the warmer weather, because they think that spring is coming..."

It takes a few more lazy swipes for Ronnie to remember they aren't supposed to be standing around chatting, but he does eventually refocus on training. Perhaps inspired by the possibility of hunting, or by the warm weather, they spend a good chunk of their time shaking the rust off their archery skills - and Clarke is pleased to find that she picks it up again rather quickly. Helpful, indeed.

When she visits Lexa that evening, the Commander has already learned of their conversation; Ronnie and the other Nightbloods petitioned her at the conclusion of their training, and he had mentioned Clarke's interest in a last ditch effort to persuade her. Not that she needed much persuading, it turns out. After checking that this is indeed true, and Clarke does indeed want to go, Lexa sends word for preparations to be made.

"We don't want to linger too long," she says, scratching something in a notebook that Clarke can't read. It isn't the first time she's seen Lexa write a bunch of nonsense letters, and she's sure it won't be the last. "The weather will not hold out for long, and we will want to make the most of it. Can you be packed to leave tomorrow?"

"I can be packed in twenty minutes." Lexa's brow knits in confusion and she pauses her scribbling. Clarke shakes her head and gives her a kiss on the cheek, "I didn't mean now, I meant in general. Yes, I can be ready to leave tomorrow." She eyes the notebook in Lexa's hands, half curious and half annoyed at the thing for occupying so much of Lexa's attention. "What do you write in that thing, anyway?"

"Things I need to remember," the Commander answers absently. She's scratching away again, but finishes quickly thereafter and snaps the book closed, looking up at Clarke. "Not even I can keep track of everything."

"Writing things down _is_ keeping track of them," Clarke teases. "Do I need to bring anything other than personal items? Supplies, a tent? Apparently a bow and arrow?"

Lexa is waving away the question before Clarke finishes it. "All that will be taken care of. I'll be sure a tent and bedroll is made available to you, and we'll have other supplies as needed. Just be sure to bring something warm, in case the temperature begins to drop again while we're out there."

Clarke leaves Lexa's room that night just long enough to pack and get everything ready for the morning. She throws the jacket she's been favoring into the bottom of her pack, then a few layers of shirts and underthings. One extra pair of pants, just enough toiletries to get her through a few days - now that she has them, she's not about to go wandering into the woods without them on purpose - and a scarf for good measure that doubles as an extra cushioning layer for a few ointments she's gathered since working at the clinic. 

She almost always has the little emergency medical kit she bought at the market in her jacket pocket, but leaves it in one of the outer pockets of the bag along with a few bandages. If she knows Ronnie and the other Nightbloods at all, they'll need a few of those before they return to Polis. A water bottle tucks snugly into the side of her bag, and that's about it as far as what she'll absolutely need. The communicator sits on the table in front of her chair, like always, and she considers bringing it. But they'll only be gone a few days, and if anything happened to it Raven would kill her. Better to leave it. She doesn't even consider the gun, still tucked in the bag Bellamy gave her beneath her bed.

Thirty minutes later, she's back in Lexa's room. The Commander is preparing for the few days she'll be absent and it takes a few more hours before she finally stops prowling around the room and calling Elena up for this or that. Clarke has already drifted off by the time Lexa crawls into bed and curls up next to her, fitting seamlessly into her side the way she does almost every night.

The next morning comes quickly, but Clarke is so excited that she doesn't even notice how early it is. She throws on a fresh pair of pants, her blue henley, and straps her knife in its usual place at the back of her belt. After pulling on her boots and slinging her bag over her shoulder, she's ready to go. Lexa has conspicuously less things to carry, but Clarke imagines she already has sent whatever she wanted to bring on ahead to be packed on the horses before they arrive downstairs. And, when they do finally make it down the elevator and walk outside, it's clear that she was right. 

Clarke recognizes a few of the helping hands Elena employs packing saddlebags onto what she could only describe as a small fleet of horses. Nightbloods run around the scene, throwing things into bags and checking their saddles, clearly energized and more than ready to go. In fact, it's clear that Clarke and Lexa are the last to arrive.

The Commander stands watching for a moment, green eyes cataloging what's been done and what is still left to do. She's dressed in a variation of the light armor she wore the last time they journeyed into the woods together: thin leather armor, dyed a deep black and strapped on in sections over her shirt, complete with caps on her shoulders and bracers for her forearms. All of it is just a little rough, a little worn in - nothing like the leather armor Helena wore at the First Fall festival. Her sword is at her side and her helm of awe is on her forehead, her hair braided in its usual net, but her pauldron and cape are nowhere to be seen.

"May I?" She asks eventually, and holds a hand out for Clarke's bag.

Clarke glances over at the Nightbloods, surprised at the gesture with so many people present. "Sure," she says after a beat and hands it over to Lexa. "Thank you.”

"Of course. Come; I'll show you which horse is yours."

She leads Clarke down the stairs to a pair of horses that are already loaded, and as such are, for the most part, unattended. Both are mares, and almost perfectly of a height; the first, a soft chestnut color, the second a smoky, dappled grey. It's the grey one that Lexa begins strapping Clarke's bag to.

"This is Maya," she says, pausing in her work to pat the horse's flank. Along with Clarke's bag, Maya's saddle has a bundle of blankets, a pair of saddlebags, and a quiver tied to it; she seems hardly perturbed by the addition to her cargo. "She may not be the youngest, but she is sure footed and knows the forest better than most. She will serve you well."

"She's beautiful." Clarke pats the horse's nose, gently. She's not terribly nervous around horses, but her inexperience as a rider makes her cautious. But Maya happily noses into Clarke's hand and whickers, clearly content and ready to be on her way. Thankfully, she's also not very tall, which means Clarke only has a little trouble pulling herself up and into the saddle.  
  
"Your horse has a name too, I presume?" Clarke asks, only a little jealous of the way Lexa effortlessly swings up and onto her horse.

"Trimani," Lexa answers, resting her hand fondly on the side of the brown mare's neck for a moment. Clarke recognizes the name as a Trigedasleng word: _forest_.

Clarke’s mouth curves up at the corners, watching Lexa with Trimani. “Appropriate,” she says. At this point, almost all of the Nightbloods have mounted their horses as well. Some, including Ronnie, are even parading them around in circles and whooping as they go. “Seems like we better get going. Get some of the energy out of these kids before they scare all of the animals away.”

"They are just impossible, aren't they?" Lexa sighs. Sitting straight in the saddle, she loops her reins around the knob of her saddle, and unties her sword from her belt. With practiced hands she ties it to the saddle, just in front of her left knee - the same spot a quiver sits on Clarke's. "We'll ride out of the city in two columns. That formation will not be necessary once we're out of the gates, but for now, stay by me."

A small detachment of guards joins them on horseback, with two taking up the head of the column and four taking up the rear behind Lexa and Clarke. The column moves out of the courtyard at a comfortable pace, weaving through the city's crowded streets while the Nightbloods chatter amiably together. Even the guards converse in easy Trigedasleng, meaning no one pays any mind when Clarke and Lexa speak together as friends. When they reach the city gate, Clarke is left looking up at the massive edifice, realizing that this is the first time she will cross its threshold since she was dragged to this city kicking and screaming - what feels like a lifetime ago.

Until recently, Clarke would never have been able to imagine feeling anything other than ecstatic to be leaving Polis. The city had felt like a prison - a larger and more elaborate prison than she’d ever been in, but a prison nonetheless. And somehow, the more Clarke finds herself trapped in a cage, the less she likes it.  
  
But now, leaving the city feels exciting not only because she’s pleased to finally be outdoors after weeks trapped inside, but because of the company with her. The Nightbloods behind her, rowdy and energetic, and Lexa beside her - beautiful in the sunshine, all smiles and in her element. Clarke’s heart feels lighter with every clop of their horses’ hooves as they leave the city limits and start across the no man's land between it and the forest.

It's clear she isn't the only one feeling this way; the further they get from the city, the less uniform their group becomes. The Nightbloods begin to goad their horses faster, and they break formation even as the guards maintain theirs. Ronnie is among them, and Clarke watches him whiz by at a gallop as he chases others. Before long, she and Lexa are the only two who have maintained their walking pace.

"You don't have to kick her," Lexa tells Clarke, riding close to her side and grinning ear to ear as she instructs her in getting her horse to speed up. This isn't the first time Clarke has been on a horse, but galloping is something she has never attempted. "No, just give her sides a squeeze with your legs like--"

The second Clarke does as she’s told, Maya leaps forward. It’s all Clarke can do not to yelp in surprise and not a small amount of terror at the jolt. In fact, maybe she did yelp - she’s too focused on not falling off the saddle to notice one way or another.

Maya charges through the field in front of them, following Trimani who is keeping pace easily - and Lexa, who looks graceful as ever on her saddle. “Somehow I thought this would be more relaxing,” Clarke calls, her hands closed into tight fists around the reins.

"It would be, if you were more relaxed!" Lexa calls, and she laughs. Loud and bright and for all the world to see, with the wind lifting her hair and the sun warming her face, Lexa _laughs_.

There is something exhilarating about traveling at such speeds; Clarke can see why the Nightbloods were so eager to tear across the open field, and even now double back to prolong the experience as they approach the tree line. When she finds a way to match the rhythm of Maya's hooves, moving with her as she runs, the fear abates just long enough for Clarke to enjoy the whip of the wind against her face and clothes, the feeling of flight and the acute sense of freedom it brings with it. She is in no way a trained rider, and can already feel the work of it beginning to take a toll on her muscles, but for now all she wants is to whoop and holler with the others.

She pulls back on the reins as the edge of the forest looms close, the cleared field around the city slowly overtaken by scrub and root, but Maya is already slowing down. With the Nightbloods still galavanting, and the guards that followed them still yet to catch up, Clarke and Lexa are the first to reach the tree line - and Lexa is _beaming_. 

She loops Trimani around Maya, and then up alongside her. With the horses facing opposite directions Clarke and Lexa face each other, and with how close Lexa pulls up, their knees brush even in their saddles.

"You," Lexa says, invigoration and adoration playing in equal parts across her face, "are _glorious,_ Clarke."

"You really shouldn't compliment me for barely not falling off a horse," Clarke says, but her grin betrays the slight chiding to her voice. It may have been just a little terrifying, but it was also fun. She can feel adrenaline race through her veins, forcing her heart to beat blood faster and fill her with energy. Certainly that has to be the only reason her heart rate has skyrocketed, and it has nothing to do with how close Lexa is. How gorgeous she looks, with her hair tousled from the wind, eyes light and playful, chest heaving just slightly from the exertion...No, it definitely has nothing to do with that. "Even then, I think Maya deserves far more of the credit for me still being upright than I do."

"Don't belittle yourself - you did beautifully," Lexa says, reaching out to cover Clarke's hand on the reins with hers. After glancing around quickly to ensure they are still alone, Lexa meets her eyes and lifts Clarke's hand towards her. Without looking away, she presses a kiss to the inside of Clarke's wrist, and then to her palm. If she had to guess, Clarke would think she isn't the only one feeling an increased heart rate just then. "You are beautiful."

Clarke's breath catches a little as Lexa's lips touch her skin. She closes her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to enjoy the feeling. "I'm glad you think so." When she does open her eyes, Lexa is still holding her hand, green eyes wide to match the smile on her face. "We really ought to get you out of that tower more often. Being out here, in the woods, suits you."

Lexa grins. "It's one of the best places to be."

The sound of hoofbeats grows louder, and they both turn to see that the Nightbloods have been rallied. They and the guards are gradually filtering over to where Clarke and Lexa stand, faces still bright with joy as their pace reduces to an even trot. Lexa releases Clarke's hand but, unlike on previous occasions, she doesn't jerk away as though from something hot. Instead it's casual, and with a fleeting squeeze before she takes hold of her reins again.

" _Natbliddas!"_ She calls in Trigedasleng, " _I trust you have enjoyed your ride?"_

She receives crowing agreement in return, and the smile that had disappeared at their approach returns to her face, small and tucked away and just a little bit proud.

" _Come then! We will find a place to camp, and then see what this forest has to offer._ "

The party does not return to its two-by-two marching order, nor does it pick up speed again. Instead, they set off at a walk that allows the horses to pick their way safely through the trees and underbrush, as there is no road in sight. The guards stay on the periphery of the group, but the Nightbloods - and Clarke and Lexa - weave their horses freely throughout, sometimes bunching up here, other times going it alone over there.

Clarke finds herself alone more often than not, winding Maya through the maze of trees and shrubs. It's not as difficult as it might be in summer, with the trees and foliage in full bloom, but still it requires some thought. Even so, after an hour or so it becomes almost like second nature to steer Maya down the path of least resistance, and the mare obviously knows her way.

Animals haven't fully returned to the forest - they must have some sense that the warm weather is temporary - but there are bird calls and now and again the telltale scrape and rustling of a hare or squirrel nearby. Despite being so long away from them and the often harrowing nature of her journey alone, Clarke feels surprisingly at home in the forest. She missed the sounds of nature around her, of walking quietly through the trees. Not disturbing, and yet still a part of the fabric of life. She and Maya create far more of a disturbance than she ever did on her own two feet, but she doesn't mind. It still feels right, to be back, and whether on purpose or not Lexa and the Nightbloods give her plenty of time to herself to enjoy it. 

Just after what must be midday, judging by the height of the sun, the Nightbloods naturally bunch a little closer together. Lexa and Trimani appear beside Clarke and the Commander tosses her something - an apple, it turns out - with a smile. Around them she sees the Nightbloods and even the guards unwrap various packets of food. Lunchtime, obviously.

True to her word, Lexa clearly packed enough for the both of them. Along with an apple, there's a small wrapped sandwich and a few long pieces of dried meat. Clarke had once again neglected to eat breakfast and eats most of the sandwich and bits of meat. She eats just a few bites of the apple though and wraps up the rest in the sandwich packaging. Riding horses may not be something she's particularly well trained in, but she does know what they like to eat. By the time they get to wherever they're going, Maya will more than deserve a treat.

The horses walk on for nearly an hour after that, until one of the Nightbloods that's gone on ahead gives a shout. Ronnie, Lexa, and Kita are all within Clarke's line of sight when that happens, meaning she witnesses all three of them react simultaneously and identically. Heads lifting to follow the sound, the three speed up to follow it.

The Nightblood in question seems to have done well: she found a relatively level clearing at the top of a hill, with a bubbling stream further downhill. It's high, sunny, and decidedly drier than much of the land they've been picking their way through until then; Lexa dismounts, and announces that this is where they'll make their camp.

A flurry of motion follows as Nightbloods and guards alike begin to unpack horses. The labor, under Lexa's direction, is split into portions: some Nightbloods are instructed to relieve the horses of their saddles and put them to pasture as their burdens are taken, others are instructed to unpack the tents and lay them out where they are to go up. She herself works with yet others to begin pitching the tents one by one, hands working deftly to build the frames and stake them in the ground.

Clarke isn't exactly sure how to go about unsaddling a horse, so she leaves that to a young Nightblood that trots up to her - but not before handing off her unfinished apple to an appreciative Maya. Tent pitching is more her speed. She's had to teach herself, several times now, how to build a tent - even from scratch, with no materials at her disposal. That was far more difficult than these, which appear to all have an equal number of canvas tarps, frames, and stakes assigned to them. In just a couple hours they're able to set up nearly the entire camp.

There seem to be half as many tents as people, leaving two guards or two Nightbloods to each small tent. The exceptions are given to Clarke, who has a small tent just to herself - there is no "proper" way to pair her off, as sharing space with a guard or Nightblood is hardly worthy of _Wanheda_ \- and, unsurprisingly, Lexa. The Commander's tent is much larger than the others, and requires a guard and two Nightbloods to help her set it up. Though not the size of the tent she had on the battlefield, where Clarke first met her, it still has a room-sized space beneath its pitched ceiling.

Kita offers to help Clarke set up her own tent, which she happily accepts. It isn't nearly as large as Lexa's, but it's certainly nicer than some of the tents the Nightbloods are sharing, particularly the younger ones. Clarke imagines they're happier sharing space and being together anyway - they're all roommates normally, but it has to be far more entertaining to be hunting and camping outside with your friends than being stuck in the barracks.

However, it does suddenly occur to her just how silly the tent itself is. Unless Lexa has some objection to Clarke sleeping with her, which she highly doubts given the company they're in, there's really no need for her to even have a tent of her own. Aside from appearances, which Clarke supposes is still an important thing to keep in mind. Even so, she feels an odd pang of guilt that this tent meant for her is both far nicer than most others and will hardly be used.

Not that she has a chance to voice any of these concerns. As soon as the tents are up and the horses tied off in a nearby pasture, attention shifts to making the rest of the camp livable. A trench has to be dug, a fire pit built, water and wood gathered, and an attempt at finding food needs to be made. As the rest of camp disperses to their assigned tasks, an excited Ronnie runs up to Clarke.

"The others are going fishing," he says, waving at a pair of Nightbloods who had - like him - been assigned to gathering food. "But we don't have much daylight left, so I was thinking maybe I could show you how to set some traps?"

"Ronnie, Ronnie," Clarke pats him on the shoulder and guides him toward the saddle bags. "You may be a far better warrior than I am, but one thing I do know how to do is make a good trap. My friend, Jasper, took almost a whole day to figure out how to make them when we first came here," she rummages in the bags as she speaks, gathering the equipment she needs, "and all he caught was some wayward leaves and a scraped hand. But after he showed me what he did, I improved on it a bit. It's worked pretty well for me, so far. Want me to show you?"

In a rare display of overconfidence, Ronnie scoffs. "I don't know what Sky People know about setting traps in the forest, but sure. Show me."

He eats those words rather quickly, as soon as Clarke kneels to set up the first trap. He crouches to her right, watching with sharp, intent eyes as she ties together a snare, asking questions about how it works along the way. They lay three traps spread out around the camp before the light begins to fade on them.

"So you spent all that time just living off the land? Hunting and fishing and stuff?" He asks at one point, while they are searching for a place to lay the third trap. "Is that how you got so good at this?"

“Yeah, I guess so.” Clarke keeps an eye out for the ideal spot - somewhere an animal might hide or search for food, but nothing too obscure. And not too obvious, either. “I didn’t have much more than my knife, and I wasn’t about to grapple a deer. Even if I could get close enough to one. I did manage to catch a fish with my hands once,” Ronnie looks decidedly skeptical at that, and Clarke winks at him, “but I think it had more to do with me slipping into the water and stunning it more than any actual skill.”

The unexpected turn makes Ronnie burst out in laughter - which he quickly tries to stifle behind a hand, looking around quickly as though he could catch whatever animal he hadn't seen but had been startled by the sound. They both pause for a moment, listening...and hearing nothing, they walk on.

"That sounds so nice," he says, sighing wistfully as he trudges behind Clarke. "Living on your own, hunting and fishing all day, owing no one anything but the next meal to yourself. What a life."

“It was great, in a way. And in others it was...not so great. There,” Clarke points to the base of a nearby tree. A hollow sits close by, an obvious place for an animal to investigate. She begins clearing the pile of leaves covering the spot. Surprisingly, Ronnie doesn’t fill the silence as he normally does. He waits for Clarke to explain herself, and even that makes her smile a little. 

“I liked being in the wilderness. If I caught a fish or snared a rabbit, I ate - and if I didn’t, I had only myself to blame and only myself to rely on to find food the next day.” Clarke covers the trap gently with the pile of leaves she’d just removed. “I liked being on my own. More than I’d like to admit, sometimes. But I was running away, and you can’t run forever. Besides, I think I’d get lonely now.” She stands and shoves Ronnie in the shoulder, hard but playful. “I’ve gotten too used to you being around every day.”

He stumbles dramatically to the side in response, a goofy grin on his lips. "Too used to me kicking your butt, you mean."

“You know I’ve beaten you before, right?” Clarke grins and gestures back toward camp. “Come on. You can kick my butt again when we get home. Lexa will be wondering where we are if we don’t get back soon.”

"Weeeeee could go hunting tomorrow," Ronnie says, falling into step beside her as they turn towards camp. "I could kick your butt then."

“We’ll see.”  
  
They wander back up the hill and into the small clearing, and the first thing Clarke sees is Lexa - kneeling by a small pile of wood, instructing one of the younger Nightbloods on the proper way to hold flint before it will strike fire. The sight inspires a small, affectionate ache in her chest.

Clarke ruffles Ronnie’s already mussed hair and pushes him forward a little, this time more gently. “Go on, enjoy the rest of the night. We can argue about who’s kicking whose butt in the morning.”

The Commander looks up as she approaches, and Clarke sees the same look mirrored on her face. She hands the flint off to the young Nightblood and stands, turning to face her. 

"Clarke," she says as she draws close. "I hear you went to set traps with Ronnie? How did it go?"

“I think I finally convinced him that I’m not that useless. I may not be a warrior, but I can at least find food.”

Despite the weather, it is still winter and the sun is already low in the sky. It’s not exactly cold, but it’s no longer warm either. “What else can I help with?” Clarke asks.

"We are..." Lexa looks down at the Nightblood, whose tongue is currently sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he tries to strike the flint onto a pile of kindling, "working on getting the fire started. I have a few _Natbliddas_ sorting out supplies, so until those who have gone fishing--"

" _Heda!"_ As though her comment had been a signal, a group of Nightbloods come back from the direction of the stream, waving a handful of fish in their direction. Lexa looks from them to Clarke and smiles her small smile.

" _Natbliddas,"_ she calls, turning around the camp to collect everyone's attention. "Gather round. It's time to start dinner."

Preparing their evening meal is a group affair. Some work to stoke the fire until it's warm enough to cook, while others debone and clean the fish. There are preserved vegetables to be prepared, some herbs to be separated from stems, and it all goes into a big pot that sits over the flames. Lexa sits among them and Clarke beside her, both lending their hands to the work as the former holds court. There is little question that she commands authority from those gathered, but in this moment it is a friendly sort; she asks the Nightbloods questions, and encourages them to share stories of their experiences of the day. It creates an easy and open rapport between the Nightbloods, even as Lexa finds seemingly any excuse to incorporate a lesson or quiz them on one they should already know.

Clarke makes herself content watching the Nightbloods interact and listening to Lexa’s voice. She doesn’t pay much attention to what she says, but the atmosphere of the whole evening is calming. In fact, eventually - after eating a few bites of fish and laughing along with the Nightbloods as they tell more and more dramatic stories - she finds a particularly flat looking log and pushes it behind her. She’s able to prop her neck up with it, and that combined with her arms wrapped lazily behind her head provide both an excellent view of the scene surrounding the fire and a comfortable position. The Nightbloods mostly ignore her and she could almost fall asleep, if not for the abrupt sounds of laughter. Even living in the wilderness never provided quite the level of contentment she feels now. Clarke imagines she could spend endless nights like this before ever getting tired of it.

She must have dozed off, because the next time she opens her eyes the food is finished cooking and the Nightbloods have dispersed. She sees a few still scattered at the edge of the fire light, bowls in their hands and smiles on their faces. But the thing that woke her makes itself known again, as Lexa leans over to put herself in Clarke's sightline.

" _Ai Etwai_ ," she says softly, holding out a bowl to her. "You need to eat."

Clarke waves the bowl away with a lazy hand. “I ate plenty. What I need is a better pillow.” She swivels her body with surprising speed until she’s perpendicular to Lexa and parallel to the fire, her head resting on her thigh. “There, much better.”

The Commander chuckles and sets the bowl down on her other side. "We do not need to stay out here, if it is comfort you seek," she says, and brushes Clarke's hair away from her face and behind her ear. "We have no more responsibilities for the day."

Clarke notes the remaining Nightbloods at the fire, surprised at Lexa’s obvious show of affection with them so close. But none of them even so much as look up from what they’re doing. Either they know about the two of them and don’t care, or are otherwise somehow honor-bound not to say anything. Clarke isn’t sure whether to be pleased or concerned, but puts the thought out of her mind for the moment. 

“So my tent is just for appearances, then?” Clarke closes her eyes without thinking, focusing on Lexa’s touch.

"It is a viable option," Lexa answers, her fingers lingering on the outside of Clarke's ear. "If you would prefer to stay there, you are of course welcome to - it is set up for you to do so. But I do not think it is necessary, no."

"I suppose I'm glad to have the option..." When Clarke turns back to the fire, she meets one of the Nightblood's eyes - but she just smiles a little, then goes back to relaying whatever clearly very dramatic story she was telling. "But if we have no reason to be cautious, I'd rather be with you."

"I wouldn't say we have _no_ reason." She can hear the grin in Lexa's voice. "We should still be discrete, so as not to scandalize anyone. But I do not worry that any here will betray us for the smaller things they may see."

"So as not to _scandalize_ anyone?" Clarke chuckles and pulls herself upright, with some effort, to face Lexa. Riding a horse for most of the day has made nearly her entire body stiff. "I have no idea what you're talking about, I can't think of anything we do that could be described as scandalous."

Lexa's eyebrows go up, but she's clearly amused. "We're sleeping in tents, Clarke."

Clarke's eyebrows move to perfectly mirror Lexa's. "And your point is?"

Lexa...just looks at her for a beat. Then blinks. Then, to no fault of the heat of the fire Clarke is certain, goes a little pink in the face. "Absolutely nothing, I suppose."

"Good." Clarke forces her body to stand as it normally would, without betraying the pain it shoots up her legs and back to do so. She holds out a hand to Lexa and cocks her head a little toward the direction of the tents. "Shall we go then?"

Taking the offered hand in one hand and the bowl in the other, Lexa pulls herself to her feet. She dumps the bowl's remaining contents back in the pot - which is still on the fire - and sets the bowl down again. "I believe we shall," she says then, and smiles.

The interior of Lexa's tent is large enough for them both to stand up and walk around in, though it has little in the way of decoration. A few packs sit to one side, one of which Clarke recognizes as the one she filled with her personal effects - somewhat invalidating the claim that the other tent was equally prepared to house her for the evening - and a small pile of books is already stacked up on the bear skin rug that covers the floor. In a concession that she's sure must agonize Lexa, a single candle burns in a glass enclosed lantern beside the bedroll - its light the only thing illuminating the tent's interior.

"I think," Clarke says, already halfway through undressing, "you are teetering on the edge of camping with a tent like this." She leaves on the shirt she was wearing and pulls more comfortable pants from her bag. "This is more like a smaller version of your room, placed outside."

"I take offense to that." Belt buckles clink as Lexa undoes the layers of armor she wears over her shirt. "There's no sofa, no chairs, no bed, no fireplace..."

"This looks like a perfectly good bed to me," and Clarke falls back easily into the bedroll, demonstrating her point, and sighs. "It's weird to miss sleeping on hard ground, isn't it?"

"You have elected to sleep on the ground for every night that you haven't stayed with me," Lexa says, standing over her as she removes the last layer of her armor and folds its pieces in on itself. "I fully anticipated this would be a relief to you."

"Nice of you to accept me, weird sleeping tendencies and all." Clarke sticks her foot out just slightly, just a bit in Lexa's way. The Commander doesn't exactly trip over it, but she does make an exasperated sound and step around it, such that she's standing next to where Clarke is lying. "Now come here," she reaches up and tugs playfully on the leather armor still wrapped around Lexa's thigh. "I'm impatient."

"Really?" Lexa lets herself be tugged a little bit closer, and kneels down next to Clarke. She leans over to deposit a quick kiss on her lips, and when she pulls away she's already untying her boot. "I couldn't tell."

Clarke makes a frustrated huff sound and grabs one of the books from the pile in front of her. "Fine, I suppose I can wait."

"You know, I never thought I would be punished for not wearing stiff, pointy things to bed with you," Lexa says, smiling a little to herself as she stands and continues to undress. She takes off the belts around her hips and thigh and steps out of her boots. "I can't imagine that would be too comfortable for you."

"I can think of a few contexts in which stiff, pointy things would be a _fun_ addition to bed. And leather straps, for that matter." Clarke doesn't even realize how intently she's watching Lexa undress, and when she does she doesn't look away. "Maybe not in a tent, though."

Lexa is in the process of taking off her shirt when Clarke says that, and when she finishes she pauses with it balled between her hands in front of her. Clarke can practically see the wheels spinning behind the slight crease in her forehead as she attempts to puzzle out what that could possibly mean...and when Lexa looks down at her, it's clear she's come up empty. "What?"

Clarke can't help but giggle at the look on Lexa's face. "Oh, nothing. I'll explain it to you later."

"... right." After another beat, Lexa tosses her shirt on top of the pile of bags. Turning to Clarke, she sinks to her knees and straddles her. "You know," she says, sitting across Clarke's hips, "If you are so impatient, you could always offer your help."

Clarke leans forward, her arms wrapped eagerly around Lexa's waist. "But then I would be deprived of the experience of watching you undress." She nips at Lexa's lips and hums happily as their bodies press closer together. "I happen to be quite a fan of that."

"In that case..." Lexa leans over and, without looking away from Clarke, shutters the lantern with one hand. "Remind me to make it more of a show next time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little shout out to that Stardust AU fic by cassiniregio that is literally the only reason Lexa is reading a Neil Gaiman novel.


	10. Snacha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: hunting, blood, violence, explicit sexual content (fingering)

When the sun rises the next morning, it filters through the fabric of the tent's ceiling in a warm, lazy haze. Though Clarke's internal clock has her waking with it, it seems she is among the only to do so; Lexa snores softly beneath her, her hand rising and falling as the Commander's diaphragm tenses with every breath, and no sound comes from the camp outside. No sound of footsteps or Nightbloods talking, just the whistle of the wind moving through leafless trees and a few birds trilling.

Clarke turns her head just enough to be able to see Lexa's face, careful not to disturb her. She's so rarely awake before her, and the sight of Lexa's calm, utterly relaxed expression as she sleeps - little hints of snores now and again making her nose wrinkle - never gets old. Clarke is hesitant to disrupt the serenity of it, but she can't help herself. 

She traces the lines and contours of Lexa's face with delicate fingers. Around her cheekbones and jaw, down her neck, around her ear. Eventually her mouth is just too much to resist, and Clarke presses a gentle kiss against her lips. A small sigh escapes Lexa's throat at that and Clarke smiles, not even bothering to fully pull away. "Good morning, my love."

"Mm, good morning indeed." Lexa lifts her head a little bit and kisses her again without opening her eyes. "My favorite way to start the day."

"It seems we're the only two up, unless the Nightbloods are being extremely stealthy." Clarke punctures her words with soft kisses at the corner of Lexa's lips, then down and around her jaw.

Lexa's eyes open and she looks up at the tent ceiling, as though she's trying to listen for any sound outside. "They aren't that stealthy," she decides, and smiles as she threads her hand into Clarke's hair and pulls her back to her lips. "What ever shall we do with this unique privilege?"

"I have a few ideas..." Clarke purrs, her fingers already tracing their way slowly down Lexa's stomach.

By the time they do actually deign to rise from the bedroll and get ready for the day, the telltale signs of life outside are clear and consistent. Nightbloods prowling the camp, preparing breakfast and beginning the day's work. "I should meet Ronnie," Clarke whispers. Somehow she'd ended up beneath the other woman, Lexa panting and boneless on top of her. Loathe to move her, despite her words, Clarke kisses the top of Lexa's head and nuzzles further into her hair. "I told him we would check the traps this morning."

"A trapped animal isn't going anywhere," Lexa grumbles, despite how blatantly incorrect that statement is. She sighs, and after a moment does roll herself off Clarke. With one arm falling above her head and the other across her stomach, Lexa puffs out a sigh between her lips. "Do you think they'll have caught anything?"

"I'm not sure." Clarke spares one last glance at Lexa and sighs before pulling herself up. Her muscles have not gotten less stiff since yesterday, if anything it's gotten worse. "They worked really well when I was using them in the mountains, but that was before winter started and I knew the area better. It just depends how many animals passed by that spot last night." The first shirt Clarke comes across in her pack is another henley and she doesn't bother rummaging any further - just throws it over her head as she continues, "If any did pass by, I'd bet we caught them."

"Mm, confidence." Clarke turns to find that Lexa has rolled onto her side and is watching her, a smile on her lips. "I like it.

"With any luck, this trip will not only provide us with enough game to eat, but enough to replenish the tower's stores as well," she goes on, sitting up. She runs a hand over the back of her head, feeling out what remains of her braids, and makes a face at what she finds there. "As such, I plan to have the Nightbloods hunting much of the day, and myself as well. Even if we get to a late start..." she looks up at the ceiling of the tent again, as though she can gauge the position of the sun through it, "we should still have some luck. The warm weather tends to fool the game animals into coming out."

"In theory, I should be a help there too, if Ronnie's archery lessons have taken hold at all." Clarke snaps the button of her pants closed and turns back to Lexa. "Do you want help with that?" she asks, gesturing to what's left of Lexa's braids.

That clearly strikes the Commander as a possibility that hadn't occurred to her, drawing her up short a moment. "If you wouldn't mind," she eventually says, looking up at her. "Do you think you can?"

"I think so. I have confidence in my abilities," Clarke says with a wink. She settles behind Lexa in the same position she so often sees Elena in as she braids Lexa's hair. "Probably not as well as Elena, but I'll do my best."

There have been a few attempts before at learning and managing to do Lexa's braids for her, and this instance does, admittedly, go better than the others. At least, there is less wincing from Lexa due to pulled or tangled hair - though it is not eradicated entirely. 

"Anya was never gentle when she helped me with my braids," she says, after making a surprised 'ah!' sound and accepting a hurried apology from Clarke. She winces again as she adds, "I think she sometimes did it on purpose."

"You'd think I'd be better at it. Healer's hands and whatnot," Clarke ties off a particularly difficult braid and starts on the last of them, "or an artist's, for that matter. But I doubt anyone would describe me as particularly gentle."

"I would disagree with that," Lexa answers, in a tone that says 'don't talk about my star that way.' "This is its own sort of art form. A warrior's braids are meant to be individual, to be a badge that marks a person as such. That tends to mean they manifest in complicated patterns - as I'm sure you've noticed."

Clarke sniffs in reply, focused as she is on the final touches of her work. When she is finally done, it's after at least twice as much time as it takes Elena and still it's not as good - but it will do, she thinks. At least for a day in the woods with only the Nightbloods to take notice.

"Braids, war paint, armor...is there anything Grounder warriors do that isn't complicated?" Clarke asks. She thinks about grabbing her jacket, but the inside of the tent is warm even without the direct heat of the sun. Her long sleeved shirt will be fine. Only thing left to do is strap her knife in its usual place and she's ready to go.

That draws a smile to Lexa's lips as she pats her hair again. Satisfied, she stands as well. "We put a lot of importance in our warriors," she says, and picks up clothes of her own. "It makes sense that we would put a lot of resources into them, as well."

"Perhaps we should place that amount of importance on healers and diplomats," Clarke mutters, as she struggles to yank on one of her boots. "Though it does leave us a lot more time to do our jobs, not having to put so much effort into appearances."

Lexa seems to pointedly ignore Clarke's grumblings, though she pulls her back for one last kiss before they finally head out into the sunlight. The Nightbloods are scurrying around the camp, seeing to this and that chore or gathering weapons and supplies for spending the day hunting. Most of the horses are still happily minding their own business, but a few are being saddled by older Nightbloods who must be planning to hunt farther out. Ronnie, of course, finds Clarke before she finds him and jogs right up to her from what must be his tent, not fifty yards from Lexa's.

"Clarke!" He says needlessly - he already has her attention - and skids to a halt in front of her. "We should go check the traps! We're already late - something could've eaten what we caught!"

Even if Clarke would've liked to point out to him that she's aware of that, and in fact was up before him - he's already now several paces ahead of her, calling to her over his shoulder to hurry up. Clarke rolls her eyes but jogs after him, the stiffness in her muscles already abating with the exercise.

It takes some time, but they hunt down and locate all three traps, only to find that all three had been tripped. Only two managed to catch anything though: a squirrel, and a rather scrawny looking rabbit. None of the animals she's seen on Earth look exactly like the pictures shown to her in survivalist classes - some have strange coloring, others an extra body part - but these look healthy enough. They reset the snares and return to camp, with Ronnie holding their catch victoriously aloft.

"Well done," Lexa says as they approach. She's dressed in her armor again, but she has a small quiver tied to her belt where her sword would normally be. "Perhaps you should demonstrate your skinning skills to the Nightbloods, Ronnie."

“Don’t mess up,” Clarke says as he jogs off, just loud enough for him to hear. And apparently for Lexa to hear, as the next second when she looks up the Commander is looking at her with a cocked eyebrow and slightly disapproving expression.

" _Must_ you tease him like that?" she asks.

“He teases me!” Clarke grins and walks the opposite way Ronnie had gone, toward Lexa. “It builds character.”

"Is that part of his training regimen, then? I must say - it is not a technique I have heard of before.

"A few of the Nightbloods who went out yesterday said they spotted deer tracks in the area," the Commander goes on. She rests her hand on the fletched end of the arrows sticking out of the quiver on her hip. "I plan to find the truth of that report. Would you like to come?"

"Sure...yes, why not," Clarke says, and her voice betrays her lack of confidence instantly. "Though I can't guarantee I'll be an asset."

That brings a small smile to Lexa's lips. "Have more faith in yourself Clarke," she says. "You survived in the wilderness once. I just want to see it for myself."

“Assuming living in your cushy tower hasn’t made me soft already,” Clarke mumbles, but accepts the bow and a quiver of arrows identical to Lexa’s from a Nightblood, who’d apparently appeared out of thin air next to her the moment she said yes.

"Living in that tower has given you more military training than you've ever had, I'll remind you," Lexa says, but her expression is still mild. "Come. Let's see what you can do."

Tracking has never been a skill Clarke has sought to develop, but that does not seem to be true of Lexa. She leads Clarke down to the stream the Nightbloods had been fishing the previous night, and they spend some time looking for the signs of deer tracks they'd reported. When Lexa locates them, they head into the forest to follow, chatting amiably - if quietly - between them. The tracks show that the deer will still be some way off, but Lexa keeps a close eye on the trail regardless.

"But you couldn't have survived _entirely_ alone," Lexa says, her bow in one hand. It seems that, this close to the forest, Clarke can't escape talking about her time in it. "Snaring rabbits and squirrels is well and good, but - you worked with no one else? Not even to trade?"

“In the beginning, I met some people.” It took her the first ten or fifteen minutes of tracking to get back into the rhythm of quietly moving through the woods, but it came back quickly. She steps lightly, avoiding roots and dried twigs and leaves like it’s second nature. It was, at one point. “Mostly Grounders who lived by themselves or in small groups, at the base of the mountains. Now and again I would bring a rabbit or maybe a fox to trade if I needed something. But I kept moving farther into the mountains and away from the valleys, so eventually it stopped making sense to travel and back and forth.”

"And so you hunted for everything?" For a moment, Lexa watches Clarke's feet, moving a few feet from her. Above their heads, a breeze continues to blow through dry, bare branches and birds continue to sing. A rustle in a bush causes them both to freeze, stopping on a dime, but when a mouse darts out they continue. "I suppose that's how you learned to do that, then."

“It was a learning curve, I admit.” Clarke chuckles, softly, at a memory. “I almost starved at first because I kept stepping into what had to have been the loudest piles of leaves in the world. Between that and forgetting where I’d lain traps, it’s a miracle I didn’t. But I learned.” They pause again. Clarke hadn’t heard anything but naturally freezes in place a moment after Lexa does, and continues as she does as well. “I did my share of sneaking around the Ark, maybe that prepared me a bit.”

"Did you?" Lexa's eyebrows go up. "I don't believe I have heard about that. What reason did you have to be sneaking around among your own people?"

“I think I’ve told you about it...you and Helena? We would sometimes take over unused rooms or open spaces in the Ark to have parties at night. That was my job, to find the right place. Once I got ahold of a few blueprints, all I had to do was stake out the good spots until the guards left for the night.” Clarke’s pace naturally slows with Lexa’s, and her voice follows suit as she whispers, “Somewhere near the engine units was usually a good bet.”

"These engines - your machines - they were loud, right?" Lexa pauses, and Clarke sees the reason for her change of pace: a pile of dung, still somewhat fresh. Not the most glorious thing to find, but a good indicator that they are getting close. Lexa stops, crouched low to the ground, and draws an arrow from her quiver as she looks around. "Good to cover noise, I imagine."

Clarke doesn’t follow behind Lexa, more to the side, but does follow her lead. “Yes, exactly,” she whispers again. “They’d cover the music, and our voices. We could be as loud as we liked and people would attribute it to the engines. Usually, anyway.”

Lexa doesn't answer. Her green eyes are bright - somehow, impossibly, greener against the browns of the trees and forest floor. She looks at Clarke, motions for her to draw, and knocks her own arrow to her bow.

They move forward in silence, each taking clues from the other, both keeping eyes and ears open for any sign of their prey. Clarke has always marveled at Lexa's ability to move without sound, but now she finds herself just as much of a ghost in the trees. Then all at once they're there: a small group of deer, numbering only five or six, graze on the short, dry grass left behind by the melting snow. The hunters fan out, Clarke moving off to Lexa's right. She keeps her eyes on the Commander as she sinks to one knee, hidden behind naked brush, and surveys the scene. That's how she knows when their target is chosen - a medium sized doe, slightly closer to them than the others but standing upwind - and also that Lexa knows she doesn't have a shot.

She turns to Clarke, meets her eyes, and mouths one word: _"You."_

The skin on Clarke’s forehead knits together, not from confusion but concern. Lexa would undoubtedly kill it, if she had a shot at it, but it’s also undeniably true that Clarke’s position is better. The doe’s head is facing her, just sixty or so yards away. Lexa would have to be an incredible markswoman to hit that target from the angle she’s chosen, and even the Commander, Clarke is sure, is not that skilled with a bow. 

Clarke knocks an arrow and pulls it back, anchoring the space between her thumb and pointer finger around her jaw. She keeps both eyes open, just as Ronnie taught her, and relaxes her arms as much as possible without releasing the arrow or compromising her aim. The doe is still far off, but the shot isn’t impossible. In fact, she’s hit targets from greater distances - but only after several tries. 

The wind isn’t strong, and she only adjusts her aim slightly to account for it. There...the doe’s head, unmoving as she munches on a patch of grass. Clarke takes the opportunity while it’s there and looses the arrow - and swears under her breath.

The good news is that she hits her target - the bad is that she does miss. She’d failed to account for the fact that the wind would be weaker here, among the trees, and would ibe stronger in the clearing ahead of them. The arrow sinks into the doe’s flank, just above where her front leg meets her chest. The deer bolt, and their doe heads straight down the line of trees toward Lexa, limping as she goes from the shaft stuck in her side.

"Go!" Lexa shouts, breaking cover and taking off at a run. She moves so quickly, bow in one hand and arrow in the other, that by the time Clarke stands again she's already several feet further away. There's a certainty and strength in her limbs, like she's perfectly in tune with every element of her body as her arms pump, her feet find purchase on the uneven ground, her thighs and calves bunching as they propel her forward, that Clarke finds herself watching Lexa instead of the deer. 

They both lose sight of it after less than a minute, the animal faster on its four legs, even when wounded, than they are on their two. Realizing this, Lexa gives up the chase and comes to a stop, puffing breath as she puts the arrow back in her quiver. 

"See blood?" she asks, looking around for any sign of the stuff on the nearby foliage.

"No..." but then Clarke does spot it. A smattering of dark, thick liquid on the ground a few steps from where they stand. "Yes, there." She follows the trail and Lexa falls in behind her, apparently fine with allowing her to take the lead for the moment. "And it keeps going, every couple yards or so. She's moving fast, but...yeah, the trail gets closer together. Not much, but a little. She's slowing down."

"She'll bleed out," Lexa says quietly, and nods for Clarke to follow her. "We'll catch up."

They do. It takes them some time, but the quiet of the forest is soon broken by the sound of distressed bleating and belting. They follow the trail of blood, now a constant, unbroken line, and find her collapsed against the gnarled roots of a tree.

When her black eyes catch them, they go wild and she bleats again. Her legs scramble, trying to get her hooves beneath her again, but she doesn't have the strength; she gets up on two for a second, and then collapses again. She stops moving, only the rapid, labored panting of her sides and the blood coming in pumps from the broken arrow in her side.

Clarke and Lexa stand above her a moment, watching. Then Lexa, without taking her eyes away, stows her bow on a shoulder. "We should end her pain," she says quietly, and draws a knife from her belt.

Clarke grabs Lexa's shoulder when she sees that she's going for the deer's middle, and shakes her head. "I got it."

She draws her own knife and kneels. Not wanting to prolong it's suffering but thinking there might be some way - who knows how, but maybe - that the deer could know what's about to happen, she puts a hand on the doe's head, gently keeping it down and covering her eyes before stabbing just above where her arrow pierced. She pushes the hilt down as deep as it will go, and slashes down just a bit before pulling the knife out. Even a deer's enormous heart should stop after that.

Sure enough, the doe bucks once, then twice, and then falls still.

She hears, after a beat, the sound of Lexa sheathing her blade. Then the sound of her boots, and then Lexa is crouched beside her, looking at the new wound in the deer's chest.

"When I was younger," she says quietly, and looks at Clarke from the corner of her eye, "Costia told me that, in the wrong doses, what can heal can also kill."

“She was right.” Clarke turns her head, just slightly, to be able to see Lexa’s expression. No other part of her moves. “In more ways than one.”

Lexa blinks. Her eyes are far away for just a second, but then they're back - and she turns to look at Clarke.

"We should get her back," she says, standing up. "Before any predators feel inspired. Can you help me carry her?"

“Of course. Though, how you plan on carrying this back...” Clarke trails off as she sees Lexa pull a length of rope from what seems an impossibly small bag at her hip.

"We'll have to find a good branch," she says, and promptly begins doing exactly that.

Though Lexa looks at the branches still attached to the nearby trees, Clarke manages to find one already discarded on the ground. Lexa then lashes the deer to it, tying its hooves together so that it hangs, and stands up.

"I'll carry this side," she says, pointing to the end of the branch by her feet. There's just enough sticking out past the deer's hooves for a person to put on their shoulder. "But you'll have to get the other one. And it is a bit of a hike back."

“Ah, well,” and Clarke heaves the branch up and onto her shoulder. It could be less comfortable, she supposes. Possibly. “Doesn’t seem so bad, and anyway we have to get it back. May as well get going.”

They walk back to camp in relative silence. Now and again they’ll exchange a few words, but Clarke spends the majority of the journey watching the color of the sky turn to a slightly darker blue, followed by a dimness in the forest that feels oddly comforting. A twilight that feels simultaneously alien and peaceful. She almost doesn’t notice how long it takes to return, though her shoulder begins to not only ache but actively wrench in its socket by the time they do ultimately break through the tree line and back into camp.

" _Heda! Heda frag a dier op!"_

The shout goes up from the first Nightblood that sees them, a girl about Ronnie's age that leaps to her feet and points. Those that are still in the camp - less than half, Clarke would guess, and all occupied with some manner of camp upkeep - are drawn to the sound, and they soon have a small crowd of kids in black gathered to look in awe at the kill.

" _I didn't kill it_ ," Lexa says. She looks at Clarke as they carefully set the deer down, and she takes the bow off her opposite shoulder. And in English, she finishes, "Wanheda did."

“Technically,” Clarke agrees, though certainly they won’t interpret that as wounding it, running after it, and then killing it, “that’s true...”

The awe shifts to her now, and she spends the better part of ten minutes telling the Nightbloods the story of the take down. None of them look any less impressed after the gory details are shared, apparently uninterested in whether Clarke had scored a direct bullseye or not. Lexa just smiles that little smile and quietly enlists the help of two of the older ones to help her string the deer up so that predators and scavengers will be less likely to make a go at it. 

By the time she returns, the sky has darkened significantly and the other Nightbloods have returned to camp, bearing the fruits of their own hunts. She sets them all to working on cleaning their kills and preparing some for dinner, shooing away those still gathered around Clarke.

When she gets close enough, Clarke grabs Lexa around the waist and pulls her body against her chest. “You give me far too much credit,” Clarke says and, despite how tightly she holds the Commander, only gently kisses her cheek.

The Nightbloods are all off on their assignments, the guards are at their posts on the outskirts of camp. No one pays them the least bit of attention. 

But Lexa blushes furiously nonetheless.

"I give you exactly as much credit as you deserve," she tells Clarke. Her eyes move nervously around them for a moment before, finding no immediate threat, settling on her. Her hands come to rest on Clarke's upper arms. "You make yourself great, Clarke."

“With your help,” Clarke is surprised to hear herself say. But she doesn’t take it back, doesn’t even doubt the truth of it. “You...” where she felt so confident only moments ago, she now feels a little unsure. But Lexa’s grip on her arms, both strong and gentle at the same time, feels grounding. “You make me better, in that and many other ways.” She smiles again, this time practically against Lexa’s lips. “You should get credit for that.”

Lexa is often awkward in these moments, uncertain of what to do with herself when admiration is on so naked a display - and not admiration for her fighting talents, or her political prowess. But in this moment, she looks downright bashful.

"Come," she says, giving Clarke's arms a squeeze before pulling out of them. She doesn't quite meet her eyes as she does, embarrassment still staining her face...but she looks pleased. "Let's get you out of this camp before you cause me to combust."

Where exactly Lexa plans to take them, Clarke has no idea. But in the dying light she ducks back into her tent, collects a small bag - already packed - and slings it over her shoulder before picking up the lantern. Making sure it's trimmed, she lights it, takes Clarke's hand, and leads her out of camp.

Clarke allows herself to be led for a few minutes before she finally feels the need to comment. “Where exactly are you taking me?”

"There was a hill we passed earlier, on our way out," Lexa answers, looking over her shoulder at Clarke. With the sun all but gone and nighttime settling in, the breeze at their backs turns cool again - but Lexa's hand is warm in hers. "It looked like a nice spot to spend some time. And I would like to have you to myself for a while, if that is alright with you."

Now Clarke can feel her own cheeks turn warm, though she’s sure Lexa would be hard pressed to notice in the dim light - even if she weren’t leading. “It’s...more than alright, yeah.” She gives a sidelong glance at the pack on Lexa’s shoulder. “This does have a look of premeditation about it.”

"I anticipated wanting to have you to myself for a while," Lexa answers, a full grin on her face, "and I am always prepared."

The ground begins to slope upwards and Clarke can see the crest of the aforementioned hill though the trees. At the top, a rocky outcropping, all smooth, flat surfaces still vaguely warm from the sun's heat. The land it overlooks drops off, not quite so dramatically as a cliff, but enough that it affords them a view of the sky and treetops for some distance. 

Lexa takes the pack from her back and a thick wool blanket from inside. Using her boot, she clears a section of rock of any loose gravel or sticks, then lays the blanket out on top of it. 

"It isn't a blanket fort," she says, setting the lantern beside it, "But I hope it will do."

“I think ‘it will do’ is an understatement,” Clarke is already nearly at the edge of the outcropping before she can help herself. It’s secluded, mostly, but still the view is beautiful. She can see for what must be several miles, and the sun is setting over the tops of the trees in hues of pink and purple that fade into deep blue. “I missed this,” she says without thinking, and for once doesn’t mind the way she shares her thoughts aloud as they happen. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen anything quite like it, but it feels familiar. In a way that makes me feel like I’ve missed it.”

"What does it make you think of?" Lexa asks. She settles herself on the blanket, stretching out one leg in front of her and bending the other, and watches Clarke.

Clarke tears her eyes away from the scene in front of her and turns to look at Lexa. “I don’t know. A few things.” She wanders back to the blanket and sits down, as close to Lexa as she could possibly be, and leans further still into her. “Being out here, in the wilderness. Being alone, but content - in a way, anyway. I saw a sunset like this once, high in the mountains. Two days before your guards found me.” Lexa shifts beneath her, but Clarke doesn’t look away from the sky and the other woman doesn’t say anything. “I was a little delusional at that point, admittedly, but it felt familiar then too. Maybe it’s the colors - we could see colors like that, sometimes, at sunset on the Ark. Maybe it feels like home.”

Lexa is quiet for a moment. "Has any of this ever felt like home? Since you fell from the sky..."

Clarke lifts her head and looks at Lexa, eyes scanning her expression. “That’s what I mean. This, now. Feels that way. You...” she exhales, rolls her eyes a tiny bit at herself for what she’s about to say, and then, “You feel like home.”

Lexa's chest expands beside Clarke with a sudden, deep breath. Her smile breaks into something wide, soft, and especially pleased. "I can't say that I am a...sky ship, but..."

Clarke snorts with the suddenness of her laughter. “No, you are not. I meant, like, metaphorically.” Thankfully she’s able to recover herself enough to continue to sound sincere - or so she hopes. “I feel...relaxed, around you. I feel like myself. All of myself, the person I am without all of the duties and responsibilities and political motives - and the person I am with them. I so often feel like I’m straddling two worlds, two parts of myself that never quite fit together. And with you, it feels like they almost do.”

Clarke realizes entirely too late how long she’s been talking and her face gets hot. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

If she is rambling, Lexa neither confirms nor denies it. She only cups a hand around Clarke's cheek, leans in, and presses a soft, deep kiss to her lips. It's a slow thing, this kiss, and it brings a lightness to the inside of Clarke's chest that makes her feel like she might be glowing.

"I didn't know there was anything left of myself until I met you," Lexa says, hand still on her cheek, nose still brushing hers, her voice little more than a whisper. Her eyes dip to Clarke's lips as she speaks, but find their way back to hers. "I thought I was all duties and responsibilities and political motives. But I'm not. And I had forgotten that, before you.

"Suffice to say, I know the feeling." She bites her lip, pauses a moment. But her green eyes are earnestly on Clarke's blue when she says, "You feel like home, too."

Clarke looks from one of Lexa's eyes to the other, searching for...she doesn't know what. Lexa has never been anything but honest with her, as far as she knows, and she would never lie about something like this. Still, Clarke can't help a small sigh of relief as she leans farther into Lexa, bringing their lips together again. 

Being here, with her, feels almost painfully right, and the implications of that for once aren't dividing her attention. All that exists are Lexa's lips, the feel of her body pressed against Clarke's own, and a feeling of contentment Clarke could never describe.

Much of their weight is on Lexa, so when the Commander bends her arm and sinks to her elbow they both go down a bit. And then further, when she rolls onto her shoulder, and onto her back. Stretched out on the blanket, the sunset before them and Clarke's hair falling around them, Lexa looks up at her with such adoration in her eyes that it damn near breaks Clarke's heart. She reaches up, brushes blonde hair behind Clarke's ear, and smiles.

"I love you, Clarke Griffin."

If asked in that moment, Clarke would have been sure her heart couldn't feel fuller - but the second those words leave Lexa's mouth, she's proven wrong. It takes her several moments to catch her breath and form words, but when she is finally capable she manages to breathe, "I love you, Lexa. More than I thought I could ever love anyone."

Clarke doesn't give Lexa time to respond. She simply can't hold in this much feeling without doing something - without _acting_. So she kisses Lexa again, far more fiercely this time, utterly unable to control herself or maintain even a small level of patience.

The Commander yields to that force, letting it consume her as Clarke herself crashes over her. Her hands find Clarke's sides, fingers twisting in her shirt, her belt loop, pulling her tight against her. Their legs intertwine, Lexa's leg propped up between Clarke's, Clarke's knee pushing between Lexa's thighs - and all of it happens as a sudden desperation overtakes the both of them. A whine pulls from Lexa's throat, a sound that might normally be discordant with the armor and power she wears, but in this moment does nothing but make Clarke's stomach flip with the need of it.

A problem is immediately evident though, and that is how to get all of this damn armor _off_. She's able to pull one of the fasteners across Lexa's chest loose with relative ease, but thankfully Lexa catches on quickly. The Commander doesn't even have to look, doesn't even open her eyes, just apparently knows exactly where every strap and buckle is located. Clarke, however, is not so intimately familiar with this particular arrangement of leather armor and makes a frustrated huff as she fumbles unsuccessfully with it.

Lexa's chest shakes a little beneath her, a soft chuckle escaping her lips, and Clarke sits up enough to let the other woman have freer access to her own front. "Help," Clarke growls. The space between them already feels too great, and like it's existed for far too long. "Please."

Lexa finishes pulling at the strap she's working on. As she sits up, she slips the pads on her shoulders off. " _Sha, Wanheda,"_ she says, and presses a kiss to her lips with such force that it rocks Clarke back a moment. Belt buckles clink as her hands continue to move between them, knuckles and fingers pressing into Clarke's abdomen and breasts as leather sloughs off Lexa. Then all at once she's free of it, and a strong arm wraps around Clarke's middle; in a blink, she's on her back with Lexa straddling her.

"Had to get the rest of it," Lexa says, voice breathy and small, crooked smile self-satisfied as she loosens the straps around her hips and thigh.

"I'm sure," Clarke says, her voice hoarse. Her heart rate accelerates at a nearly painful pace just watching Lexa remove her armor from this angle. She lets Lexa focus on disposing of the rest of her armor and wraps her hands around the Commander's neck instead, pulling her down and kissing her fiercely. "Very thoughtful of you," she manages between breaths.

"I am accustomed to following orders," Lexa says - and then stops a moment, looking Clarke in the eye. "And I am very thorough." And she kisses her again.

Before long, Lexa is discarding those extra straps as well, tossing them to one side and the other with little concern for where they went. But Clarke is so consumed in the kiss she resumes in the meantime that she doesn't notice when the tugging and moving going on around her waist turns to the close on her own belt and pants.

"I will have to test that," Clarke mutters belatedly, even as Lexa manages to pull her belt out from under her and toss it aside. She presses most of her weight against Clarke, their bodies touching in nearly every way they could be. Clarke doesn't even think, her arms naturally wrap around Lexa, pulling her impossibly closer. She claws at the fabric still covering Lexa's skin and her hands find their way beneath her shirt and up, grasping at her shoulders with insistent fingers.

Unperturbed and unimpeded, Lexa's hands finish their work, and she allows herself to be pulled down with and against Clarke. One arm props herself up, her forearm beneath Clarke's neck and her weight on her elbow, her hips resting her weight just below Clarke's and pressing into her thigh. Lexa's tongue pushes between Clarke's lips, licking into her mouth and against her teeth, gasping just a little when those teeth close on her lower lip - and then she slides her hand beneath the waist of Clarke's pants, and drags a finger against her core.

Clarke exhales sharply and her fingernails dig into Lexa’s shoulder blades even as her hips rock upwards. In a sudden but not unwelcome change of pace, Clarke can barely think straight let alone act with purpose. Her body feels like one nerve, every bit of her connected and perfectly attuned to Lexa’s touch. 

It isn’t gentle or even slow. It feels as though Lexa is experiencing something similar to Clarke - she seems uniquely focused, unconcerned with taking her time or teasing. With her focus remained entirely on Clarke, Lexa’s fingers alternate deftly and with purpose between filling her entirely and massaging her clit. It’s all Clarke can do just to hold on, and she does so with an iron grip. Lexa would have a hard time pulling away from Clarke’s lips, even if she wanted to.

She does try, kissing the corner of Clarke's mouth, catching her chin in a moment of desperate gasping, but she's always brought back before she can get too far away. Not that she minds; as Clarke's breath comes faster, as gasps turn to moans, Lexa responds in kind.

With her weight now on one knee, Lexa presses her hips forward each time that her fingers sink into Clarke. In the limited space, the extra force offers just a little more leverage, lets her push that little bit deeper. At the same time, the heel of her palm grinds into Clarke's clit in tandem with the push of her fingers.

This overwhelming amount of sensation inspires shuddering moans that Clarke has no control over. It takes longer than it might otherwise if Lexa were focused entirely on her clit or the pressure were more consistent, but the orgasm that builds up within her is stronger for it. 

Clarke’s body curls naturally around Lexa’s, trying to get as close to her as possible, and now and again Clarke has to pull away and gasp for breath. Her fingers tighten, one hand still grasping Lexa’s shoulder and the other buried in her hair. As Clarke gets closer - so close it starts to hurt - her grip tightens impossibly more. A few more thrusts of Lexa’s fingers and Clarke breaks their desperate kissing again and opens her eyes. Lexa is already looking at her, green eyes focused entirely on Clarke. “Lexa...” is all Clarke can manage, her voice strained.

"Clarke," she gasps back. Sweat beads her forehead, the muscles in her neck and shoulder strain, but her eyes don't waver. " _Ai Etwai,_ my love--"

The cry that rips from Clarke’s throat cuts her off. Clarke’s arms go rigid around Lexa, pinning her down with enough force that her biceps shake. If Lexa is hindered at all she doesn’t show it - her fingers don’t slow, and her palm stays pressed to Clarke’s clit.

The orgasm rolls through her body with intense force and even as it dissipates, several aftershocks make her muscles spasm. After the fourth or fifth one - Clarke wouldn’t be able to count them if she tried - she gasps and grabs Lexa’s shoulders. “Baby,” she whispers, and Lexa instantly stills her movements.

"Sorry," she says quickly, withdrawing her fingers. Face red from exertion she looks at Clarke, lips parted as she pants. "Are you alright?"

Clarke answers with a sigh and pulls Lexa’s mouth back to her own, kissing her lazily. “I am more than alright,” she says when she does eventually pull back. “That was...that was good.”

Lexa laughs at that, even as she continues peppering kisses along Clarke's jaw and down her neck. Pulling her hand back, she slips her fingers into her mouth to taste Clarke off of them. "I am glad you enjoyed yourself. I certainly did."

Clarke makes a sound low in her throat as she watches Lexa lick her fingers. “I always enjoy myself with you.” Lexa’s lips turn up just slightly at that, but her expression quickly turns to one of surprise as Clarke pushes up on her shoulder and flips her - not so gracefully - onto her back. “But I wasn’t finished.”

Lexa frowns, her confusion plain on her face. "Finished—?

“Yes, finished,” Clarke hums into the curve of Lexa’s throat, already gently kissing and sucking her way down to her collarbone. She pushes Lexa’s shirt up, revealing her breasts, and continues to make her way down as she simultaneously presses her thigh against the space between Lexa’s legs. “You interrupted me.”

A strained sound escapes Lexa's lips in response, her hands grasping at the blanket beneath her. She offers little protest, however, her hips pushing against Clarke's thigh in response. "You hadn't started," she manages to get out, her voice little more than a breath.

“My mistake,” Clarke breathes, and pulls one of Lexa’s nipples into her mouth. The other woman groans and her hips buck beneath her.

Clarke is patient, happy to take her time and lavish attention over the entirety of Lexa. She alternates worrying the Commander’s nipple between her teeth, occasionally flicking her tongue over the top, and sucking it deep into her mouth. She spends several minutes focused on one of her breasts before moving to the next, and it's at this point when she realizes that Lexa's reactions have become more intense.

" _Foq, Klark,_ " she gasps. Clarke shifts, presses her hip between Lexa's legs, and the Commander shudders. Lexa grinds against her - desperate, it seems, for just a little bit more, just that extra bit of contact, while every bite, every lick draws another sound from her lips.

Ever since they arrived in the forest the day before, Clarke has been aware of how much more open Lexa is here. Less guarded, more herself, more ready to voice her thoughts or put words to her emotions. And there is something different about her even now; the way she moves, the way she moans - even the look in her eyes as she looks down, making eye contact with Clarke as she sucks a nipple back into her mouth. It's as though she is freer here, better able to seek and take her pleasure. And take she does.

Clarke had designs on Lexa’s pants, namely that they be removed at some point, but seeing Lexa’s reactions to her ministrations...Clarke decides to wait. She presses her hip not harshly, but more fully into Lexa’s core and receives a reassuring groan for her efforts. Clarke adjusts the position of her arm so that her weight is on one elbow, allowing her other hand to tease the nipple her mouth isn’t currently focused on. She alternates her attention from one breast to the other, always massaging and stimulating the opposite with her fingers.

The result is a panting, increasingly desperate Commander. Lexa squirms beneath her, but Clarke keeps a steady pressure on her both from her own body and from her arms pressed against Lexa’s sides even as she digs her fingernails into Clarke’s hips, pulling them harder against her.

She gets closer, Clarke can feel it in the tension of her body - and then all at once, the tension breaks. Unable to hold it any longer, her body releases it in shuddering and quaking limbs, in the cry that pulls from Lexa's throat as she grabs hastily, desperately at Clarke's shoulders. There are few things quite like winning an orgasm out of the Commander and for a few, gorgeous seconds Clarke is able to revel in the beauty of it: in the sound of her cry and the grip of her fingers, crushing Clarke to her even as she strains to continue moving. 

Clarke can tell when it starts to fade by the way Lexa's arms grow limp. Her hands, clinging to her hips, her back, her shoulders, anywhere she could find purchase, release their grip. Her thighs, tensed in the process of driving herself up into Clarke, go slack and her legs stretch out. The breath that had been building in her chest releases in a long, slow sigh, and with her eyes still closed Lexa says, oh so softly, "...that was new."

Clarke laughs quietly and hums against Lexa’s skin, taking her time to make her way back up to Lexa’s lips. “A good new?”

"I...think so," Lexa says. As Clarke draws close she wraps her arms around her and tugs her down against her shoulder. "I don't know how I feel about it being that easy."

Clarke tilts her head up to fully face Lexa, and can’t help a smile from forming. “Easy? What do you mean?”

"I mean that you didn't even have to..." Lexa's hand lifts to make lazy, looping motions in the air as she tries to find words. "Not even a touch, and I just..."

“There was quite a lot of touching,” Clarke teases. She pushes a few stray hairs behind Lexa’s ear and kisses just below it, at the end of her jaw. “I like learning new things about you. A new way to make you orgasm is never an unwelcome piece of knowledge.”

That makes Lexa laugh, a little bit of embarrassment leaking through her grin. "I suppose it is helpful when removing clothing is a little less than convenient," she says, tipping her head to the side as Clarke continues her kissing.

Clarke makes her way back to Lexa’s mouth and kisses her tenderly. “You are beautiful,” she says against her lips, “and unbelievably sexy, and you should never think differently.”

Lexa's face wasn't exactly not red, after all that, but it takes on an even deeper shade now. As Clarke kisses her she sits up, pushing Clarke into a sitting position by looping her arms around her back. As she does her shirt falls back down over her torso, and she kisses her in return. 

"You do always find a way to remind me of that," she whispers against Clarke's lips. A smile turns her mouth, and her eyes dance with it. "Even when it is easier to forget."

By now the sun has sunk below the horizon and the sky's colors have all dissipated - excepting the streak of deep purple that fades into inky darkness above the tree line. Clarke and Lexa both take a moment to gather their strewn things before settling back together in the halo of lantern light cast across the blanket.

Despite their usual tendency to cuddle into each other, both Clarke and Lexa naturally lie on their backs, hands and some of their legs intwined as they watch the night sky. Despite the sun's disappearance it's still warm, at least for now, and the view of the stars is even better here than it is in Polis. Clarke can see constellations she recognizes - the dippers, Orion's Belt, Virgo - but here she can see other stars that she'd never been able to identify before.

"Do Grounders have names for constellations?" Clarke asks, breaking the silence they'd comfortably shared for some time.

She feels the Commander turn to look at her, but keeps her eyes on the sky.

"We do," Lexa says, and props herself on one elbow. Leaning over Clarke just a little, she reaches out a hand and traces a shape in the sky. "Do you see these five bright stars over here? That's the _Skaihosa."_

“Sky...rider?” Clarke asks, mostly but not entirely sure of her translation.

Lexa smiles, apparently proud of her knowledge, and nods. "Exactly. Do you see these three here? That's the horse's body. The one here is the head, and the last one is the rider themselves."

“Yeah, I think I can...” Clarke turns her head into Lexa’s body to get a better perspective. “That reminds me of one that I know. It’s called Cassiopeia. I think it’s...yeah, there. Actually it includes one of those stars,” and Clarke draws her hand across the sky, the same as Lexa did, connecting the five stars. “It’s named after a queen, but it doesn’t really look like a person. I like your _Skaihosa_ better.”

"They aren't all so well suited," Lexa hums. Slipping her arm under Clarke's neck, she guides one of her hands with her own and directs it a little further down from those stars. "See those two there? They're supposed to be the _Honon,_ the _Skaihosa's_ prisoner. But it's just two stars."

“Their prisoner?” Clarke chuckles, even as she snuggles into Lexa’s embrace. “Predictably bleak, I suppose. Show me more.”

Lexa smiles and presses a kiss to Clarke's forehead. "As you wish."

There are some predictable ones. A straight line of three called _Swis_ \- knife - and another named after a legendary warrior whose name Clarke immediately forgets. Beside her, however, is _Seken_ , her second, and together they play some kind of role in the histories and education of young warriors now. Clarke points out a few of her own, the Dippers making an appearance, and Andromeda. 

"That one there," Lexa says after a time, using Clarke's finger again to draw four lines straight down across a cluster of stars. "Is one of my favorites. That's _Snacha_."

Clarke frowns as she searches her mind for the correct translation. “Is that...no. What does that mean?”

Lexa just grins and says, "He's a raccoon."

An utterly uncontained laugh bubbles out of Clarke. “A raccoon?! Aren’t raccoons scavengers? Why would you name a constellation after them?”

Lexa chuckles along, shrugging the shoulder that Clarke isn't resting on. "I think it may have been the result of an old children's tale. But if that's true, I do not know it."

“I love that,” Clarke says, and makes a pleased hum as Lexa’s arm tightens around her. “Before the bombs, before we were in space, people named all of the constellations after stories. Even they didn't really know whether the stories were true, bu they named the stars after them anyway. So even if raccoons are insignificant today, they’ll forever be immortalized in the stars. I wonder what people will think of that someday.”

"The same we think of Cassiopeia, I imagine," Lexa answers, a little wryly. She looks up at the sky for a moment more, then rolls onto her back with a sigh. 

"Would we have been able to see your home up there?" She asks quietly, eyes on the sky again. "The Ark, I mean. Before it fell."

“I’m not sure,” Clarke answers truthfully. “I imagine so, but I think it would’ve looked like a star more than anything else. So if you’re missing a star from your constellations, we may have been the culprit.”

"You know, now that you mention it," Lexa says, looking up at the sky contemplatively. The hint of a smile turns her lips. "The Sky Rider is missing their eye."

Clarke chuckles and shrugs. “Who knows! The Ark did move, slowly, but even we have no idea how many satellites are still up there. Maybe one circles around now and again to become their eye.”

The nighttime noises of the forest take over, the sound of insects and smaller animals scurrying, the distant flapping of something in the trees. Clarke can swear she hears an owl somewhere off in the night.

"You said that it would move, if it were still up there," Lexa says after a time, and reaches her arm out again to trace the path of a light slowly making its way across the sky. "Like that moving star, there?"

Clarke nods, easily identifying the “star” Lexa means. “Yeah, exactly. That’s a satellite. People used to put them in space to orbit the Earth and they would...” Clarke struggles to think of a good way to explain all a satellite could do, and gives up in short order. “Well they’d make technology work, basically. But now they’re just up there, floating in space.”

"So that's...a machine?" Lexa asks, a frown puckering her brow as she works to recategorize that information. "In the sky? And one that no one uses anymore?"

“Right. It’s totally useless now, I imagine. Maybe we were able to repurpose them for some use on the Ark, but if we did I have no idea what it was - and obviously we have no use for them anymore.” Clarke sighs. She feels a pang of sadness, thinking of the Ark. It’s been a long time since she’s had a sense of missing her old home, but out here watching the stars and the sky...she’ll never be there again. Will never see the sun rise over the edge of the Earth, will never see any of the constellations again in the opposite hemisphere. “Anyway, if they move, they’re probably not stars. But I guess beautiful in their own way, from here.”

"Mm."

She can feel Lexa watching her, but she doesn't turn to look at her in return. After a while, the Commander's eyes turn skywards again.

"I wonder how many times I saw your home streak across the sky," she says softly. "How many times I saw it over the years, and had no idea that it was you I was seeing."

Clarke does turn to Lexa then, and sees only affection and a little concern in her eyes. It makes Clarke’s heart feel light again. “I wonder how many times I looked down at Earth and wondered if there were anyone here. Countless, probably. I thought about it all the time. Little did I know I’d come here and fall in love. The Commander of the Twelve Clans, _Leksa kom Trikru._ ” She spreads her hands as if smoothing a banner above them, Lexa’s name strewn across it. “And to think, all I had to do to find you was fall from space.”

The 'banner' has the Commander laughing, and she gives the pomp of it a roll of her eyes. But then she settles, looks at Clarke, and finds her hand on the blanket. "Just like a star."

She looks up at the sky again and, with a hand resting on her stomach, she quotes, "'It is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken; it is the star to every wand'ring bark, whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken'...I do not know that I can say that I am glad you came here, Clarke. Not in good conscience, knowing what I do about what this world has put you through." Though her voice is strong, it is steeped in emotion. And when she looks at Clarke again, her eyes shine with small, unshed tears. "But I am glad to have met you."

“I don’t tend to dwell on things I can’t change. Everything I’ve done, and everything I’ve lost...in the moment, I made the best choices I could. And would probably make them again.” Clarke moves her free hand up to Lexa’s face, gently tracing the curve of her ear and jaw. “And they all led me here, to you. It’s by no means a small consolation to think of it that way.”

Lexa's smile is soft, and she tips her head down to press a kiss to the heel of Clarke's palm. "I do not believe much in luck," she says softly, speaking the words into rough skin, "but I am extremely lucky that you feel that way."

Clarke tips her head forward slightly, just enough to press their foreheads together. “This world has taken enough from us. Maybe it will take more. I didn’t think I cared anymore, what happens to me. But this - us - is worth surviving for.”

"For the first time in my life," Lexa says, her eyes move between Clarke's, and she lifts her hand to cup Clarke's cheek. "I have to agree." And she kisses her.

It turns out Lexa had packed more than just a blanket, as before long - prompted by the growing grumble in their bellies - she produces food from her bag as well. They eat a simple, cold meal on the blanket, a picnic beneath the stars, and review the events of the day before planning those of the next. There would be another hunt tomorrow, now that they had confirmed there were deer, and fishing before that, Lexa decides. And Clarke and Ronnie will need to check their traps again in the morning, of course.

The moon is high overhead by the time they make their way back to camp. In the darkness they are stopped by one of the guards, standing sentry at its edge, but upon learning their identity he lets them pass. They sneak the rest of the way through, picking their way around tents and the smoldering embers of the main campfire before finally slipping into Lexa's tent. They undress in the light of the lantern, then quickly settle in to the warmth of the bedroll and each other.

When Clarke wakes the next day, she is not the first one. Lexa still dozes beside her, stirring when Clarke does, but the rest of the camp is a flurry of activity. The Nightbloods are excited to begin the day, and she and Lexa hurry to join them.

Clarke chooses a dark blue shirt with buttons that Elena had given what feels like ages ago. Lexa has complimented it several times and sure enough, the Commander smiles when she sees Clarke put it on. Comfortable pants, her favorite boots, knife on her belt - and she’s ready to go. Lexa isn’t so quick, with her various layers of leather armor to contend with, but still they emerge from the tent in surprisingly short order.

The Nightbloods are already running around, some still obviously in the middle of their morning routines with shirts being pulled on as they go and toothbrushes sticking out of their mouths. Most are working on breakfast and those that aren’t are busy stringing bows and assembling fishing poles.

Before they can get very far, Ronnie sees them and waves Clarke over, emphatic as ever. Clarke chuckles and waves back, already on her way toward him. “We’ll be back in an hour,” Clarke turns to Lexa and says, squeezing her hand before letting it go.

Lexa smiles that tucked away little smile, and nods. "Good luck."

It feels almost routine to have Ronnie at her side as they head out into the woods, even though this is only the third time that they've done it. It's easier to find their way, the trees and roots and odd bramble now familiar road markers, and neither have to pay quite as much attention as they make their way.

"So you killed that deer that's hanging up over camp?" Ronnie asks as they go. He walks with a leisurely swagger, as though he feels a freedom to move his limbs that he doesn't usually. "A couple of the others were saying that was you, but I couldn't find you to ask about it."

“We snuck away for a while,” Clarke explains. Ronnie has never asked her about the increasingly familiar way she and Lexa interact, and he doesn’t seem concerned now. “But I did, yeah! Your archery lessons paid off. Mostly, anyway.”

"See?? They're good for something!" He laughs. "So what was it like?? Hunting with the Commander, I mean."

“It was...” Clarke pauses, thinking of the way Lexa moved while they were hunting. Impossibly quiet, as usual, eyes alert. The way her fingers would twitch around her bow when she heard something. “She was amazing,” Clarke says honestly. “I don’t think she made even a single sound once we were close. If she had the better angle, she would’ve killed it in one shot, I’m sure.”

"You know," he says, and his voice drops to a confidential hush. He walks just a bit closer to Clarke, despite the fact that they are now well away from camp and the likelihood of another person being within earshot is highly unlikely. "I hear she isn't that great a shot."

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “Really? Think I could beat her?”

Ronnie shrugs. "I don't know! She never really practices in front of us. Standard targets, sure, but nothing hard or fancy. But Kita says that she once saw the Commander..."

He goes on, both talking and walking, and Clarke follows him. But just as they reach the first trap, she notices something that she can't quite put her finger on - something that doesn't seem quite right. She stops to listen and that's when she realizes: the birds, sparse and paltry though they are in these winter months, have stopped singing.

“Ronnie...” Clarke stopped walking to listen, putting Ronnie several paces ahead of her. He doesn’t seem perturbed, but now that she’s looking she can see their trap ahead of him - uncovered and released, a hint of a leather boot peaking out from behind the tree they’d set it beside. “Ronnie, wait —“

He turns to look at her, and for a moment, everything seems to slow down. His face, painted with confusion, is freeze framed in her vision - as is the snarl of the armored man who steps around the tree, just over his shoulder. And then everything happens very, very fast.

Ronnie spins at the sound of footsteps just in time to see his attacker, and leaps out of the way as a blade, flashing in the sunlight, stabs through the air right where his stomach had been. His eyes go wide, and in his surprise he loses his footing. He grabs for the knife at his belt even as he goes down, his back hitting the ground with a thud, but the other warrior is already turning on him. Clarke's feet move of their own accord, her knife already in her hand when she jumps on the warrior's back and uses her weight to drag him away from Ronnie. He quickly scrambles to his feet, but there's another warrior stepping from the brush, and then another, and another—

And then the one she's holding on to, whose throat is currently between her bicep and forearm, slams her backwards into a tree.

The movement takes Clarke by surprise and she doesn’t have the time or awareness to even adjust her head - resulting in it smacking, hard, along with the rest of her back against the tree trunk. Clarke groans at the impact and her grip around the man’s neck loosens. It takes just an extra shove from someone else behind her to push her to the ground.

Adrenaline allows Clarke to stand and ignore the pain in her head, but it doesn’t make her any steadier on her feet. Three large, armored warriors encircle her. They glare at the knife that’s still miraculously in her hand, but even then they barely hesitate.

When the first one comes at her, she manages to dodge to the side, catching him in the back of the head with the hilt of her knife. She carries the momentum, trying to get around the other and reach Ronnie - but he surges forward, forcing her to react to the threat instead of avoiding it. She swings her knife out in an arc and leaps to the side at the same time. Clarke knows that she's hit her target, can feel that sickening pull of a blade as it parts flesh, but still he manages to get his foot in front of hers. She trips, stumbling just as the third makes his move.

Before he can reach her, however, a blur of black streaks across the ground and crashes into his side. Ronnie, teeth bared, a war cry on his lips, knocks him to the ground. The fourth warrior is on him a moment later, but he's picked up the sword of the third.

"Clarke!" He shouts as steel rings out against steel. He knocks the attack of the fourth one away, only now for the first to be on him as well. "Run!"

Under different circumstances, Clarke would have rolled her eyes at that. A twelve year old telling her to run - he must take after Lexa even more than she already suspected. But as it is, she can barely comprehend his words before the two warriors unhindered by wounds or Ronnie jump on her. 

The first one pulls her down to the ground while the other pins her left arm with one hand and grapples with the other. Clarke uses the opportunity to pull her arm back and close to her chest, and then quickly turn as much as she can and thrust the knife into the warrior on her left. He yells in pain as the knife sinks into the top of his shoulder, not quite at his neck but close enough. He falls back, wrenching the knife from Clarke’s hand with him, and in his place the one she’d swiped at earlier grabs her. In short order, one is half lying, half sitting on her to keep her down while the other holds her shoulders, effectively trapping her against the ground. She punches wildly and grasps at whatever body part or pieces of armor she can find, but neither man moves an inch.

" _We don't need him!"_ She hears the one she stabbed shout in Trigedasleng. " _Get the girl!"_

Ronnie is fighting furiously, especially once he sees her pinned on the ground, but the sword is bigger than he's used to, clearly meant to be wielded with two hands instead of one. It weighs him down and when he blocks the thrust of one warrior, the second has an opportunity to hit him across the face. He stumbles back, blood spewing from his nose, but catches himself in time to make a lunge in retaliation. The blade sinks into the stomach of the one who hit him, coming clear out the other side...and staying there just a second too long. The first attacker has recovered, and as Ronnie turns to face him, he rakes his sword across Ronnie's side. The Nightblood gives a howl of pain, blood as black as ink flinging from his attacker's blade, before a second hit to the head sends him crumpling to the ground.

“Ronnie!” Clarke screams. She can’t see him once he's fallen, the people pinning her down entirely obstructing her view. “Fuck! Fuck you,” is all she’s able to get out before she wildly throws a punch - and the man on top of her drives his fist into the side of her head. The last thing she sees is the man who had just attacked Ronnie standing over her, black blood dripping from his sword.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I - wait. This was supposed to be a *flips through notes* a fluffy fic, you say? With no *searches through doc* no _consequences?_ I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm afraid I have no record of that *types furiously into notes doc* here...


	11. I Will Break You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh. Remember when we said there would be explicit violence? This is it. If reading about characters being low-key tortured can be rough for you, just join us next chapter - you'll get the gist of it then.
> 
> TW: graphic violence, physical torture (intentional burning, bone breaking)

She fades in and out of consciousness. 

In one moment, she's being dragged. Branches break under her legs and dirt gathers under her boots. She's vaguely aware that her hands are tied, and a voice that feels too far away to be her own slurs, "Ronnie."

In another, male voices are panicking. Words in Trigedasleng move too quickly for her to catch - _blood, dead_ \- and she sees a dark mass, the size of a man, on the ground. " _Leave him,_ " someone says, and then someone picks her up.

The sound of horses. Something drives repeatedly, rhythmically, painfully into the space between her ribs. There's something close to her face, trapping her breath. She feels like she's suffocating, and her vision goes black again.

 _Splash_. A bucket of cold water returns it, and Clarke comes to sputtering, hacking, and gasping at the shock of it. It's so cold that it burns her skin, sets her teeth to chattering, and her breath comes in dramatic, hissing heaves as her heart thunders in her chest. She blinks rapidly, the blurred collection of bright, hazy lights before her eyes slowly defining themselves. Tents materialize, white against a darkening sky. Figures, including one kneeling in front of her. A face. Black clothes. She thinks of Ronnie, at first, all in black, but this face has a beard. And cold, blue eyes.

"There she is," it says, in a low and gravelly voice. It turns to one of the other figures, straight hair falling over his shoulder in the process. "You see? All she needed was a little help."

Clarke squints, willing her eyes to focus. The man in front of her has an oddly familiar look, even aside from his clothing. His eyes are hard and penetrating, that much she can see, but he moves...like someone...  
  
Clarke can’t think straight. But she has enough awareness to spit some of the still freezing water he’d just unceremoniously dumped on her back in his face.

He jerks back, face twisting against the jet, and her eyes clear further. A close cut, well kept beard. Long hair with only a few, simple braids. Lines around his eyes, though he looks to be only a few years older than she is. And a pair of scars, raised white and purposeful against his ruddy skin, curving in broken crescents around the outside of his eyes. 

Though he recoiled from the water, his mouth breaks into a grin a moment later. He chuckles, but it is an unkind and cruel thing. He looks back at Clarke, and there is danger in his eyes.

"I have heard tales about your spirit, _Wanheda,_ " he says, and hits her across the side of the head.

She screams, the sound ripping from her throat before she can stop it. Her head feels like it might split open, the pain of it causing dark spots to pop behind her eyes, and for a moment the world goes black. She's brought to consciousness again by a few sharp pats on her cheek.

"Now now, _Wanheda,_ " the man says. Her vision swims, but she fixates on his hand as he pulls it back from her cheek. He looks at his fingers, at the thick, sticky coat of blood now on the tips. He wipes it on the front of her shirt, leaving a streak of it across the blue fabric. Red blood. Her blood.

She remembers the blow to her head, surmises that the pain must be from that still fresh wound. She begins to catalogue all the things she knows about head trauma. The man dips his head, trying to catch her eye with his.

"Don't start going on me yet," he says, and that wicked grin is still there. "We haven't even been introduced."

Blood doesn’t necessarily mean a concussion, but it seems likely that she has one. Staying awake would be ideal, if she had access to medicine or a lab, but as it is...

Clarke keeps her eyes closed for the moment, hoping he’ll give her a few seconds to take stock of her situation if he thinks she’s still coming to. She’s in a chair, that much is obvious. Her hands are tied behind her back, and a quick flex of her biceps indicate just how tightly. She saw tents, but not like the ones Lexa and the Nightbloods had set up - pure white tents, large and numerous. Like an army encampment.

This time it’s not a pat. The man grabs her chin in a painfully tight grip and forces her head up, causing her eyes to naturally open. He grins again when she does.  
  
“You know my name.” Clarke’s voice sounds odd to her own ears, raspy and strained. “Why should I give a fuck who you are?”

He tuts at her, and it makes her blood boil.

"Because, my dear _Wanheda,_ " he says. His knuckle presses painfully into the negative space under her jaw. "I'm the one who's going to kill your girlfriend."

Clarke’s heart stops. She doesn’t take her eyes off the man in front of her, doesn’t even blink, but for the first time real fear starts to seep into her mind. Her raw throat works in her favor to mask the panic in her voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The smile falls from his face, and he tips his head. For all the world, he looks disappointed. "Not the answer I had hoped for," he says, and shoves her head to the side before he pulls his hand back. "One would expect the Commander of Death to be a little more...oh, I don't know." He stands up, and in the process, hooks his knee under the seat of the chair. It's a light thing, and in a casual move of his leg he knocks it backwards. Clarke lands on her back, hard. "Violent."

“Easy to criticize my lack of violence,” Clarke wheezes, the air knocked straight out of her lungs as her head once again slams into the ground, “when you have me tied to a chair.”

Her hands are still trapped beneath it. Her own weight presses it down on her arms, crushing the flesh there and cutting off circulation. Her whole torso aches from the jar of the impact, and the pain between two of her ribs reasserts itself.

"Oh believe me, I would love nothing more than to untie you and give you your knife back," he says, and steps over the chair so that his legs are straddling her torso. He sinks into a crouch over her, elbows on his knees, and meets her eyes. "Then I would have a good excuse to send your head back in a box - and win the consolation prize of the power of _Wanheda_ for myself."

"Enough, Roan," says a voice to her left. She recognizes the voice even before the speaker steps into view, and it has the simultaneous effect of chilling her to her bones and stoking her rage. 

_Haiplana Nia kom Azgeda_ stands a few feet off, hands folded behind her back and a heavy fur draped around her shoulders. Like the man now crouching over her - _Roan_ \- she is dressed in leathers, though hers are dyed grey and white instead of black. Her eyes are painted black beneath the scars on her forehead, the kohl lining them making her ice blue eyes all the colder. 

"You do not want to make our guest too uncomfortable too quickly," she continues. "There will be plenty of time for that later."

“Nia,” Clarke breathes, somehow both unsurprised and still in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

"Enacting my grand plan," she says, as though she's the villain in some story. Unfortunately, she does not then launch into an explanation of said plan as a villain might; instead she looks at Roan. "Pick her up."

Roan gives Clarke one last little smirk before saying, " _Sha, Haiplana._ "

As he steps off her and slowly pushes her chair back up, Nia turns to one of the other figures on the edge of this empty space between the tents. When Clarke can see him again, she recognizes one of the warriors who attacked her and Ronnie.

" _Were you followed?"_ She asks in Trigedasleng, her voice low. The warrior shakes his head.

" _No, my Queen. But we lost one of ours on the way; a Nightblood stabbed him, and he bled out before we could get back to the horses._ " From the tone of voice he uses, it's clear the warrior thinks this is a problem for them, but Nia just smiles.

" _You did well,_ " she says, and presses what Clarke guesses are additional coins into his hand. " _Your Nation is grateful for your service._ "

“Interesting,” Clarke says, her eyes following the warrior and further cataloguing her surroundings. She’s speaking to Nia, but doing the best she can to understand her position. Not surprisingly, it doesn’t look great. “A queen who commands through compensation. How...generous of you.” She turns her eyes back to Nia, who’s mouth has turned down just slightly into a small frown. “Are you going to regale me with this grand plan, or do I get to wait in suspense?” 

The truth is that Clarke is, in fact, increasingly terrified. It would be difficult not to be. But she forces all thoughts, all feelings, to the back of her mind as best she can. They won’t help her here. “Because so far, I’m not understanding what I should be impressed by.”

That earns her a backhand from Roan, who now stands next to her. Her head snaps to the side, her teeth cutting painfully into her cheek; the metallic taste of blood is hot on her tongue.

"Charming as ever, Clarke," Nia sighs. The sarcasm is heavy in her voice. "My ambassador has told me that you've been particularly diplomatic these last weeks. Very easy to work with."

“I hope so.” Clarke spits a mouthful of blood in Roan’s direction, but manages to miss him by a couple feet. The ambassador, of course. An easy way to funnel information directly from Polis. But he’d never seen her and Lexa together...not that Clarke knows of, anyway. “It’s difficult to do my job when people don’t believe I want to work with them."

"It isn't a matter of believing, Clarke," the queen says with a sigh, and cleans something off the side of her boot on a stone. "And any way, you weren't brought here for your opinion."

She turns to her then, and crosses the few steps between them to come to a crouch in front of her. "You see, we've learned quite a bit about you since you came to Polis," she says, her voice low and deceptively amicable. Her eyes betray the hatred hidden behind her even tone. "We know that you've been training with that Nightblood, for instance. As though you are a true Commander yourself. And that you've learned our language passably well, especially enough to read it. And that you've taken up sketching. Your subject matter leaves a little something to be desired, however; 'Maps and Mechanisms of Polis' isn't a title that's going to catch much attention."

That is a disturbing amount of information, to be sure. Clarke had no idea she was being watched so closely, though the truth is he wouldn’t have had to try very hard. She and Lexa may have been more discreet when it comes to their relationship, but Clarke has never bothered to hide the details of her routine. Though how they know about the maps is interesting. Either they’ve seen her sketching outside, or they’ve been in her room. That Nightblood... _Ronnie_...

Clarke blinks several times, forces herself to take deep breaths. Focus.

“Doesn’t sound like a title I’d come up with,” Clarke says, attempting to match Nia’s calm tone of voice - though she does nothing to cover the hatred she feels, and it comes out far more biting than casual. “I didn’t realize you were so interested in my hobbies. I’m flattered.”

Roan hits her again, and her teeth cut into the same place. 

"I wasn't finished," Nia says, holding up a finger like a patient school teacher. Clarke's head reels for a moment, and it seems like Nia can tell; she waits until her eyes have focused on her again before she continues. "Because, you see, the most interesting thing we have learned about you is that, for a reason none of us can fathom, _Leksa kom Trikru_ has taken you into her confidence."

Fear spikes again, and Clarke cannot tell if it's blood or adrenaline leaving that metallic taste in her mouth. She thinks of Lexa sitting at the foot of her bed. She thinks of Costia. 

Before she can force it back down, Nia continues.

"It's true, we do not know the extent or the nature of that relationship just yet. Roan has some suspicions," she looks up at him, and Clarke's eyes follow for just a moment. He's smirking again. Nia taps her knee with a finger. "Though it cannot yet be confirmed. But we do intend to find out."

“If that’s what this is about, I think you’ll find me less than accommodating,” Clarke growls. Her head is still ringing, and she’s beginning to feel a little nausea from the pain - definitely a concussion. But she can see well enough, and she doesn’t allow her eyes to stray from Nia’s. “I’m not telling you shit.”

Nia smiles a tight smile. "Mm. Quite.

"Here's the thing, Clarke." She puts her hands together, fingers stretched out and aligned, and points them in Clarke's direction. She looks for all the world like she's about to offer her a business deal. "Lexa is going to die. And there is nothing you or her can do about it, frankly, so that leaves you with just one decision: where will your people be when it happens? Whose side will they be on? Though I suppose, if you're particularly helpful, you can decide whether we kill her quietly or violently, whichever you choose."

Maybe it’s her head, or maybe the adrenaline is just too much - or maybe it’s an image of Lexa, bloody and unmoving, dead in her arms, that forms behind her eyes - but all effort in service of self control shatter. Clarke snarls and kicks out with her dominant foot, as hard as she can and directly at Nia’s knee.

The blow lands, and the Queen cries out. She falls back into the dirt behind her, and then everything seems to start moving at once.

She sees the guards standing at the edge of the circle jerk into motion, and so does she. The idiots neglected to tie her legs down, so she throws her weight onto her feet and stands as best she can while still tied to a chair. She spits the blood that has been gathering in her mouth a second time, and this time lands it satisfyingly across Nia's face and torso. She has just a second to enjoy the horrified and disgusted look on Nia's face before she has to dodge to the side to avoid Roan's lunge for her. When a guard comes at her from the side, she swings the chair at him as best she can and manages to knock him over, and quickly stomps on his face.

She doesn't know what her plan was. She doesn't even think she had a plan. All she knows is the sick satisfaction she feels as two of the guards grab Nia under the arms and drag the still stunned queen away from the danger. She sees this even as a third guard tackles her, sending her shoulder and side of her head driving into the ground, and Roan stands over her.

"Now this is more like it," her says, and brings his fist down. Her vision goes black.

When she wakes again, there is no water. She is groggy, her vision swimming, and her head continues to ache like there's a thunderclap stuck inside it. But now she knows what her situation is, knows the danger she's in, and forces herself to focus. She tries her arms, and finds they're still tied around the back of a chair. She tries her legs, but they pull against bonds of their own and press against the legs of the same chair. But is she in the same place? It's dimmer here; she can tell without opening her eyes that it's the ruddy red of firelight that illuminates the area now, rather than the yellow and white of sunlight.

When she does open her eyes fully, a careful, gradual thing, it's to find that she's inside one of the large, white tents. She faces its front, and through its untied flap can see what looks like the place they'd tied her up previously. But it's fully dark outside now, a pair of braziers the only source of light inside the tent.

"So good of you to join us again, _Wanheda_." It's Roan's voice, and he appears from somewhere behind her. "Did you have a nice rest?"

Clarke's mouth is dry and somewhere in the back of her mind she knows she's thirsty. She wets her mouth, hoping it will help with her voice, which still sounds raspy as she says, "Nice enough." The inside of her cheeks feel raw and as she breathes the slashes from where her teeth cut into them burn. "How's your queen? I hope I didn't frighten her too much."

"She recovered well enough," he answers, and as though reading her mind, pops the top on a water skin. He holds it to her lips and tips it upwards.

Clarke's throat starts to ache at even just the thought of water, but she stubbornly keeps her mouth shut tight, only glares at Roan. This results in water once again splashing down her face, shocking her skin with the icy cold of it.

Seeing this, Roan pulls the skin back and caps it again. He shrugs. "Suit yourself."

He disappears behind her again, presumably to put the water down on a table she can't see. Certainly she hears the clanking of something against wood a moment later.

"Do you understand the reason why you're here?" he asks her.

"I admit, I have no idea." Clarke takes the time with Roan behind her to lick her lips, getting whatever water she can. She's not about to give him the satisfaction or the delusion of being kind to her - but Clarke knows that she needs water, and any way she can fortify herself now shouldn't be wasted. "So far it seems like you attacked me and brought me here to chat. Which seems excessive, even for your queen."

"She can be a little over the top, it's true. But most rulers are."

After a time, Roan comes back around. He crouches in front of her again, this time with something that reflects the firelight in his hands. As he plays with it, twisting it between his fingers, she realizes it's a knife. 

"The reality is that you have information that we want. I realize that you are unlikely to give any of it to us, and that is your prerogative. As it is our prerogative," he raises the knife now, showing the edge to her. "To try and force it out of you. Do you understand now?"

Clarke's heart pounds in her chest, new adrenaline mixed with anger and fear. She does her best to focus on breathing, but even that's difficult. Surprisingly, the knife in front of her proves helpful in keeping a panic attack at bay. Something to focus on, however terrifying it may be. That, and surviving.

"I have no idea what information I have that you could want, but your assessment is correct." Her eyes narrow and she bares her teeth as she growls, "Do what you want."

He grins at that, and uses the knife to point at her. "You really should choose your words more carefully," he chuckles, and with a flash of his hand drags the knife across the outside of Clarke's upper arm. She bites back against the searing pain that answers it with gritted teeth and a grunt, her nostrils flaring as she breathes rapidly through her nose. Pulling his knife back, he tips his head and looks at her.

"How many people does _Skaikru_ have at the Mountain?" he asks. The knife hangs between his knees, a single drop of blood oozing slowly down its edge and dripping from its point.

Clarke scoffs and rolls her eyes - which hurts her head even more. "I have no idea, and if I did I wouldn't tell you. I have a feeling this is going to get repetitive."

He nods his head, pushing his lower lip up in an exaggerated display of agreement. "It might," he says, and swiftly cuts into her other arm in the same place. "But I am certain I will still enjoy myself. How many warriors does _Skaikru_ have in its militia? Surely an ambassador would know that much."

At this point, Clarke's teeth are gritted together as much from pain as from anger. Still she just levels her gaze at Roan, panting slightly. "I don't know."

He tuts at her again, shaking his head. "An ill informed ambassador can't be any help to her people," he says with a sigh. He stands then, and wipes the flat of his knife off on her sleeves. He then looks over her head and nods. "It really would be better for them and for you if you started remembering."

A guard she didn't know was there comes into view, and Roan steps behind her. Grabbing a fistful of her hair he yanks her head back to a painful angle, then presses the knife hard against her throat. She can feel the first layers of skin part beneath it as he says, "I wouldn't try anything, Clarke. You are just as useful to me dead as you are alive, so don't get any ideas about your status protecting you."

Clarke can’t see well with her head pulled back, but she can feel the guard untie her arms. Blood flows instantly and painfully into her hands, but the relief is short lived. She struggles, but can’t jerk too hard or the knife at her throat will cut deeper into her neck. That, and the guard is far stronger than she is, and quickly sets about tying her arms to the sides of the chair.

“I doubt I’m just as useful,” Clarke is cautious not to move her neck much as she speaks, especially when she feels a sting where it nicks her skin again. “Or I wouldn’t still be alive in the first place.”

"You may not want to believe it, but we _Azgedans_ are quite generous at heart. We thought we would give you a chance." When her hands are securely tied again, the guard disappears behind her and Roan retracts the knife and throws her head forward. The swift motion sets her head to swimming painfully, and hurts her neck. 

She sees him tuck the knife away in his belt, and he goes about pulling her sleeves up behind her elbows. "At any rate, I wouldn't want you to get bored too early. So let's change it up, shall we?"

Once her forearms are exposed, he goes to one of the braziers that are within her sightline. He balances the knife along its edge so that the blade sits over the open flame, slowly warming as he casually stretches out his back and arms.

Clarke takes the opportunity to consider Roan more fully, both in the hopes that it may somehow help her and in an effort to ignore the knife, already beginning to glow slightly from the heat. He does move in a familiar way - like the warriors in Polis, perhaps. She thinks of Kita briefly. “Who are you?” Clarke asks him finally.

"Ah," he says, glancing back at her for just a moment before returning his attention to the knife. "Now you care to know 'who the fuck' I am."

“Well you’ve tied me to a chair, and you don’t seem to be going away anytime soon.” Clarke can’t help but glance at the knife again - it’s almost yellow now - as she shrugs. “May as well get to know each other.”

"That's awfully pragmatic of you." He hooks his thumb into his belt and hangs his hand from it. With the other, he turns the knife over. "My name is Roan."

“I did catch that,” Clarke purses her lips. She tests the restraints on her arms for the third time - if anything they somehow feel tighter. “Never heard of you. Which is odd, because this feels a little personal.”

He pushes his lower lip up again and tips his head back and forth, as though considering that. "You could describe it that way, I suppose. If only by extension. But no, you wouldn't have heard of me before now, and that was by design."

The knife doesn't glow white, but by the time he lifts it off the fire there is little question that it's hot. He turns to her then, holding it at a distance from himself, and says, "But you'll find out more about me in due course. Are you ready to remember?"

He doesn’t give Clarke much time to respond, even if she wanted to. In one smooth motion, he lays the flat of the blade across her bare arm. And Clarke screams.

It goes on for a while, but she loses much sense of time. Whenever the blade goes cold Roan merely stands and heats it again, the metal slowly burning from the repeated process. Each time grants Clarke just enough of a break to appreciate the absence of the direct pain, which only serves to make it worse when the heat returns. He asks her all manner of questions, about her people, about the Mountain, Arkadia, about Polis. She doesn't answer any of them, straining to let her rage burn hotter than the knife, to keep herself above the pain by spitting vitriol back at her torturer. And as the night wears on and no progress is made, Roan's calm exterior fractures with frustration. 

"Damn you!" He roars at one point, all pretense at cool distance shattering. He kicks her chair over again, landing Clarke hard on her cut shoulder and burned forearm, drawing a sobbing cry from her lips. Tears burn her face, and a small part of her hates that they exist. But the rest of her can't control it, and so decides not to care. Roan grabs one leg of the chair and starts to drag it, and her attached to it, through the tent flap. "I had heard of your stubbornness, _Klark kom Skaikru,_ but this is madness."

Once outside, he picks the chair back up and sets it right side up. She is cognizant of the dark sky above her, stars shining through clouds showing grey against the black of night, and of the chill that slowly sets in to her raw skin. Her breath clouds in front of her, and she hears the boots of the guard following them out. _Skaihosa and their prisoner._

"We will see how stubborn you are after a long night exposed to the elements," Roan continues, his voice a growl over her shoulder. He appears in front of her again, only to point at the guard she assumes is behind her. "If she falls asleep, wake her up. I don't want her to miss a minute of one of her last nights in this world, do you understand?" He kneels in front of her again, his face a mask of rage. "I will break you yet, _Wanheda_. Mark my words."

Clarke is nearly delirious at this point, which might explain the insane grin that crosses her face. "We'll see," is all she's able to get out, her throat hoarse from screaming, but it has the intended effect - Roan's face twists in anger. For a moment she thinks he'll hit her again, but he restrains himself.

"I want her awake," he barks at the guard again, and then stalks off.

The guard in question removes the ties around her legs first and then proceeds with her arms. When she squints, she can see the forms of several guards standing nearby, waiting to interfere if she makes a scene again. It's tempting, and she does push her away as best she can, but Clarke's muscles are weak and the guard is far stronger in the first place. She's easily able to pin Clarke's arms behind her back and force her forward.

They walk several paces to the edge of the clearing where she'd first woken up. Out of the darkness, a large wooden pole takes shape at the edge of a line of tents. The guard wastes no time in turning Clarke and shoving her back against it. It would hurt, if the rest of her wasn't already exhausted and screaming in pain. Large, rough hands tie her wrists together behind the pole as the guard in front of her watches, her eyes cold and wary.

Just a few seconds later and Clarke is left largely alone, the guards having retreated several paces away. It's cool in the breeze, and what's left of her shirt isn't exactly meant to retain heat. It's not as cold as a typical winter night in Polis, but it's certainly not warm. Clarke sinks to the ground, relieved to not have to be supporting her weight anymore, and tucks her knees as best she can up against her chest. There's nothing to do about her arms - she doesn't even tug at the restraints. The tight cords had begun cutting into her skin earlier, and tugging on them will only make it worse.

Her head lulls forward several times as she begins to nod off, and each time the guards wake her roughly. After the fourth time, she leans her head back against the pole, scooting as far away from it as possible to get the best angle and avoid her head falling to either side. At first, the guards are wary - they watch her closely, but every time they approach she looks back at them, clearly awake. Eventually they stop paying so much attention, and Clarke is able to get at least an hour of rest in altogether.  
  
But when she wakes from each ten or fifteen minute increment, she almost wishes she'd just stayed awake. She dreams of Lexa, fighting Roan or Nia or even her friends - and every time she dies before Clarke can reach her. By the time the sun begins to rise above the trees, Clarke gives up on sleep and focuses more on fortifying herself. She's now experienced firsthand Roan's abilities to torture her when he _isn't_ angry - she isn't looking forward to today.

Over the course of the evening, her body turned mostly numb. A not unwelcome sensation, as it dulls some of the pain, but it is somewhat worrisome when she realizes she can't feel the tips of her fingers. It can't have been cold enough to cause frostbite, but the windchill combined with the tight cords, cutting off her circulation...Clarke is almost happy to see him when Roan finally emerges from his tent. Almost.

He is much more composed this morning than he was last night, but there is still something lacking in his air. The cheeriness he displays now is not as honest as it was when they started yesterday, the smile he wears tighter around the corners. 

"Good morning, Clarke," he says, pulling gloves on his hands. "I hope you slept well. Shall we begin?"

The questioning resumes, now out in the open among the gathered guards and the cluster of tents. She occasionally becomes aware of passerby in the lanes between them, warriors pausing every so often to take a look at the great _Wanheda_. That knowledge leaves a sour taste in her mouth, even as Roan resorts again to pain to get her talking. He settles for gentler kinds of punishment on this bright, sunny morning, trying to draw her out of her half-delusional stupor. Her focus does grow, gradually brought back by water that she can't help but drink when a guard presents it to her, but she chooses to set it on studying the vague hints of activity in the camp instead of Roan's questions. She offers a biting remark every so often, but mostly she refuses to respond to him as his questions grow more focused, more detailed. He wants to know what kind of deals she's been striking with the other ambassadors, what Lexa has been leveraging in her alliances with the chieftains, but Clarke ignores him. When Nia appears for a short time to observe the progress Roan has made - or, in this case, lack thereof - Clarke focuses on her instead. But when she's gone, she goes back to tabulating the number of warriors she spots as the sun rises higher in the sky.

The morning mostly involves beatings, which Clarke stops really feeling after a while. Roan is careful not to hit her too hard in her most vulnerable areas, presumably because he thinks she'll die faster if he does - and he's correct - but he doesn't hesitate to hit her in the head, which is increasingly worrisome. Clarke can still see and speak, but the pain in her head is extreme and she's already vomited twice.

There's a short reprieve where Roan, now actively furious, storms off in search of food. Clarke takes the break to continue her examination of her surroundings, sure that if she survives she'll need any and all information she can remember. By this point it's all she can do to keep her head up and not hung against her chest. She's long since lost feeling in her fingers, even after exacerbating the cuts on her wrists to make fists now and again, hoping it will help to pump blood to her hands.

When Roan returns, maybe an hour later, it's early afternoon. He's back to his cheery self, apparently having recovered from his anger after eating. And drinking, as his breath shortly reveals. After a last few attempts at questioning, he has her hauled up and placed back in a chair, her arms and legs tied the way they were yesterday. He smiles when he sees the burn marks on her arms, and from this angle Clarke can get a better look at them as well. Miraculously, they don't seem to have blistered yet or be infected, but without ointment they'll definitely scar.

Roan takes his time building a fire next to them, chatting away as he does. He asks her more questions, but doesn't follow through with any form of physical punishment and doesn't even really seem to expect an answer. However, his questions increasingly become more personal and more focused on Lexa, and even through the mental haze her concussion has created, Clarke begins to notice.

By the time the sun seems as though it's beginning its slow descent, Roan has perfected his fire and so far has added several new burn marks on her skin, some overlapping the ones from yesterday. Clarke doesn't even bother to contain her screams, but they do become increasingly half-hearted. Not from lack of pain, but from an increasing sense of disassociation. Clarke knows somewhere in her mind that that's dangerous, but no longer has the willpower to stop it.

"Clarke?" Roan's face comes back into view and Clarke blinks, realizing she'd once again blacked out for a few seconds. "You still with me?"

A sudden surge of energy and anger has her gathering what little saliva and blood she has in her mouth and spit it directly in his face. Unlike Nia, he doesn't seem the least bit panicked or perturbed by it; he merely sighs and wipes it off his face with his sleeve. "A simple 'yes' would have sufficed."

He's crouched in front of her again, but he holds nothing in his hands. For several moments he looks at her, his head tipped slightly to the side as he studies her in silence. Then he says, almost off-handedly, "Does Lexa have any weaknesses?"

Clarke takes several seconds to get her breath back, hoping it reads as pain management rather than an attempt to keep yet another panic attack at bay. "Not that I know of," Clarke manages to say. "Maybe a general dislike of squabbling politicians, but that hardly seems unique to her."

He narrows his eyes a little, scrutinizing her. "Are you certain?" He asks. "No...weak ankles? Trick knees?"

Clarke can't help her eyebrows from rising at that. "Trick knees? No, I haven't observed that."

"Huh." He falls silent again, looking into the distance somewhere off to her side. It is a respite, but one she doesn't necessarily welcome; it feels as though it is only the lead up to some new horror - and she is correct in thinking so. After a time, his cool eyes return to hers. "I hear you are a healer. Is that true?"

Clarke shrugs, to the best of her ability. "A bit."

"Mm, no. Quite a bit, from what I hear. Working with a clinic most every day." He stands up again and looks down at her from his full height. "And a bit of an artist, too, if your drawings are to be believed. What body part do healers and artists need more than most people, do you think?"

“Their brains,” Clarke snorts, but her heart rate betrays her yet again - she can feel it like a drum pounding against her ribs.

"Oooh - a good answer, and a valiant attempt!" He says, and pulls a knife from his belt. "But wrong."

He slams the hilt of the knife hard into the back of Clarke's knuckles.

"It's their _hands,_ dear _Wanheda,_ " he says, kneeling in front of her once more. "Their hands. More specifically, their fingers; warriors and carpenters may need their hands as well - so far as I can tell, you are neither of those - but artists and healers need those _dexterous_ fingers to get the job done." He tips his head to the side, a short chuckle leaving his lips. "I'll bet the same could be said for our lovely Commander - but, I digress.

"Here's the deal, Clarke." He clears his throat and takes her chin in his free hand, forcing her to look at him. "You are going to help me kill Lexa by telling me what I want to know about her. Either that, or I will break your fingers one by one until your hands are so mangled you will never hold a brush or sew a wound again. Understand?"

Clarke’s expression darkens at the joke, and fear takes a backseat to logical thought for just a moment - _Roan knows Lexa_. _Azgeda_ killed Costia, that much is true, but the way he says that...the tone of familiarity is so distinct. He _knows_ her.  
  
And then the reality of her situation comes crashing down, and it’s all she can do not to allow herself to cry.

Roan is right. Clarke would be nothing without her hands. Any broken limb left unset will be difficult to mend, even if she does survive this - and an impossible obstacle for a healer to overcome. She won't even be able to maneuver a pencil, let alone work with patients again.  
  
It wouldn't just be her body this world endeavors to destroy, but the things that bring her joy as well - the few things she's managed to hold onto that give her some semblance of self. Clarke grits her teeth.

“I will,” Clarke breathes heavily, forcing, willing, the panic from her voice, “never help you,” another pause, “hurt her.” That’s all she can get out - even if she wanted to continue speaking, her heart rate would make the sound too wavering to comprehend.

"Ah, there's that valiant streak again," he hums. "I'm curious to see how long it lasts."

He goes systematically from least used finger to most, starting with the little finger on her left hand when she refuses to give him Lexa's weaknesses again. A distant part of her is impressed by the strategy, even as she witnesses it first hand; starting with the lesser needed fingers allows the pain and fear to build up as he moves towards those most necessary. Both of those sensations well up with such power in Clarke that she is uncertain she could speak, even if she wanted to - she just cries out, tears streaming down her face. She thinks of the unfairness of it all. She had finally found a way, a place, a person that allowed her to express herself, to be someone other than _Wanheda_ , and now all of that, all of it will be taken away from her—

By now, the sun is setting on the horizon. And through the tears, and through the haze of pain, Clarke notices something strange. A low murmur of working bodies had been audible the entire day, as the inhabitants of the camp went about their daily work. But now that murmur is being gradually drowned out by the sound of commotion on a distant side of camp, one that grows louder with each passing moment. She can't lift her head enough to turn it, but she forces it to loll in that direction so she can get a better look, and...is that...smoke? Rising in the distance? 

"Clarke," Roan says, a warning in his voice. When she looks at him, it's clear he hasn't noticed anything. "You aren't paying attention."

Clarke isn’t actually sure how many of her fingers he’s broken, at this point, and even less sure how many more he’ll get to. But she is sure that smoke - increasingly tall, and the sounds of commotion growing less and less faint - is not a natural part of this camp. And it would behoove her to keep Roan’s attention on her, if she can.

“Maybe you’re not doing a very good job then,” she hisses through her teeth. “It’s been a whole day, and you’ve gotten nothing. Maybe your queen should have found a more accomplished interrogator.”

That does the trick. Teeth bared, he backhands her across the face. Then fronthands her. Cuts on both sides of her mouth open up, but she can see fire now, see it arcing down out of the sky and catching on the tents. The sound of horses' hooves, neighing and shouting, draw ever closer...and Clarke begins to laugh. She's certain her smile is grotesque - she can feel the blood in her teeth, and knows from the tightness in her face that she is bruised black and blue all over - and it catches Roan in a moment of repulsion and confusion. But then his face twists with his anger, and he hits her again.

He pulls his hand back for a fourth, but a scream goes out nearby, and she can't hold his attention anymore. He turns towards the commotion and sees the rising flames, and his mouth drops open.

"Hey, Roan." Her voice is like sandpaper in her throat and it hurts to speak, but she manages to get her voice loud enough to catch his attention for just a second. She spits blood at his feet. "Fuck you."

A second later, arrows rain from the sky, streaming fire in their wake. Clarke ducks her head, but doesn't miss seeing an arrow come so close to hitting Roan that it cuts his cheek as it falls, the burning, oil-doused rag behind its tip catching the corner of his shirt - exposed beneath his leather armor - aflame. Her heart is in her throat but the volley misses her, and as the surrounding tents go up in flames a hellish figure on horseback bursts through them.

Lexa is painted for war. She comes crashing onto the scene on Trimani's back, a terrible roar on her lips and her teeth bared. Her warpaint mixes with blood on her face, spatters of it that are not her own, and she holds her sword aloft as she goes. Trimani crosses the empty space at a gallop, and Lexa brings her sword down in an arc that sinks deep into, and then clear through, the stomach of a guard. He hits the ground before he even knows what's happened.

When the fire caught his shirt, Roan hit the ground and scrambled to put it out, shouting as he did. Now that it smolders and Trimani rears as Lexa brings her around, he sits up, eyes wide and face drained of color. Against the paleness, Clarke can see a line of what is, unmistakably, black blood.

Another horse appears, this one with Kita on its back. She too is wearing warpaint, and as she cuts down another guard, Roan scrambles to his feet.

" _Retreat!"_ He yells in Trigedasleng, and turns tail. " _Regroup! To the right flank!"_

Lexa raises her sword again, her bared teeth and snarl making it clear that she intends to give chase...but then she catches sight of Clarke. And for a moment, Clarke thinks the Commander's heart has stopped.

"Clarke!" She yells, and all but leaps from her saddle. Her sword clatters to the ground as she skids on her knees to a stop beside where Clarke is tied up, a knife already in her hands. Fear and worry are clear on her face, a clearer paint than the black and blood she already wears. "By the Flame, Clarke - are you alright??"

Between her broken fingers, Roan’s last few hits to her face, and seeing Lexa - Clarke’s heart is absurdly erratic at this point. Staying conscious is about all she can focus on. “Yeah,” she manages to slur, “totally fine.”

Lexa does not seem to understand this is sarcasm. “You are not fine,” she says, even as the ropes and cords holding Clarke’s limbs to the chair slip away beneath her knife. “Can you walk?”

She doesn’t even wait for Clarke respond, just wraps an arm around Clarke’s waist and hauls her up. Legs that haven’t supported her in over a day tremble beneath Clarke and she stumbles, but is able to stay on her feet with Lexa’s help.

The Commander looks at Kita. "Sound the horn," she says, while holding out a hand to Trimani. The horse apparently knows this wordless command, and comes to her until she can grab her reins.

While the Nightblood lifts a horn to her lips, Lexa carefully helps Clarke into her saddle - which, in all reality, is more of her pushing and pulling her into position than helping. The pain of moving makes her vision pop, but before long she is in the saddle, and Lexa is behind her. Her arms wrap around Clarke's middle, her sword stowed once more in its sheath, and even though Lexa's armor presses into her back Clarke swears she can feel her warmth. Though at this point, it could just be psychosomatic.

"You're safe now," Lexa says, and Trimani takes off at a gallop through the tents. Clarke is vaguely aware of Kita riding alongside them, blowing long, deep notes out of her horn. Then she must pass out, because the next time she blinks the tents and fire are gone. Smoke is still on the air, but they're racing towards a tree line with another dozen or so black-clad figures. The Nightbloods, she realizes - and then she's out for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Roan's a Nightblood now ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	12. The Ninth Nightblood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is someone holding a seance in here? Because I think I hear the ghost of a plot coming along...
> 
> Some softness for you this week, gentle readers. We'll be back to the action soon.

The next time Clarke is aware of anything, she’s lying down. That much she can tell. Everything around her seems filtered through a hazy lens, but wherever she is feels familiar...and she can hear Carlisle’s voice, and vaguely a woman’s, before searing pain erupts in her left hand and she passes out.

When she wakes again, she’s still lying down. This time she feels more comfortable, and the space looks the same...it looks like Lexa’s room, Clarke realizes, and she struggles to stay awake. She can feel darkness creeping in despite her best efforts, but as it does she can clearly hear Lexa’s voice from the other room. She sounds angry, and she’s yelling something...telling someone to get out...and then it’s gone.

The next time Clarke becomes aware that she’s conscious, she does everything she can to hold onto it. She’s in a bed, in Lexa’s bed. Her vision is back to normal and she can see her surroundings clearly.  
  
Careful not to move her head, Clarke tries to take in her body. It’s hidden beneath blankets except for her arms, which she’d imagine are easily the most alarming part of her. She hopes that’s the case. Her wrists are bandaged, as well most of her forearms and at least half of each bicep. Carlisle would’ve put burn ointment on them and kept the bandage in place to let it do its work. What is most concerning, however, are the small metal stints that three of her fingers on her left hand are taped down to. 

Before she can think too much about it, a ball of orange by her side catches her attention. Pip, as of yet unaware that she’s conscious, sleeps softly, curled against her side. Lexa doesn’t appear to be in the immediate vicinity, so Clarke tries moving her head - and instantly regrets it. It feels like an anvil is resting on her skull, and someone pounds on it every time she moves. She’ll have to ask Carlisle about brain damage, and the expected recovery of her fingers, and any internal damage, and Ronnie...her stomach sinks at that, logic finally giving way to feeling. If any of the Nightbloods are hurt, she’ll never forgive herself.

At this point, Pip has noticed her movements and perks up. She makes a quiet meow-type sound and curls closer to Clarke, purring like a little motor.

"I know, cat, I know," she hears a tired voice say from the other room. It's Lexa's voice, and Clarke's heart reacts immediately. "Just give me a moment."

Clarke doesn't say anything, most of her concentration focusing on making her uninjured hand scratch Pip carefully behind the ears. The cat purrs louder as the sound of movement comes from across the divider, and she presses her head further into Clarke's hand.

"Clarke!"

She looks up to find Lexa juggling a bowl that she nearly drops upon finding her awake. When she catches it, she puts it on the ground - food for Pip, Clarke surmises - and rushes to the bedside. Her hands carefully cup either side of Clarke's head, her eyes moving frantically from one of her eyes to the other.

"Clarke, you're awake," she says breathlessly. "How are you? Can I get you anything? Water? Food? There's medicine for the pain here somewhere--"

Clarke chuckles and moves her free hand to grab Lexa’s arm - currently the only thing she can reach. “I’m fine! Or if I’m not I can’t tell yet, so the medicine must be working.” She moves her hand down Lexa’s arm and around to her side, feeling her skin and the curve of her body as she goes, examining without thinking. “Are you fine, were you injured? If any of the Nightbloods were injured, Lexa, I swear - is Ronnie okay?”

"Everyone is alright, Clarke, I promise," Lexa says, and she smiles an affectionate smile at the fervor and absurdity of the threat. She settles carefully on the edge of the bed, her thumbs running over the rise of Clarke's cheekbones. "I am unhurt, and the Nightbloods are nursing only minor injuries. Ronnie took the worst of it, but he received treatment before too long and is now recovering. He's been asking about you every day."

Clarke breathes a sigh of relief. “I was so worried, I thought...I hope you told him I’m fine. He couldn’t have done anything, I wish he wasn’t even there in the first place.” She gestures with her right hand at her left. “Did Carlisle set these?”

Lexa glances at the hand in question, and several emotions flash through her eyes in rapid succession - dismay, guilt, anger - and then are just as quickly gone. She meets Clarke's eyes again. "He did. He's tended to you all the way through, which reminds me--"

She stands and disappears, just long enough for Clarke to hear the sound of the bell's mechanism whirring in the wall. She returns a second later, taking up her seat again on the edge of the bed. "He asked me to notify him as soon as you woke up. I was never any good at listening to my healers, but where you are concerned--"

“I'm glad to know there's _something_ that inspires you to listen to us,” Clarke says with an affectionate roll of her eyes. She squeezes Lexa’s hand. “I didn’t tell them anything, you know. Just...getting that out of the way. I doubt I’d be here at all if I had.”

"It's alright, my love," Lexa says softly, using her free hand to brush Clarke's hair back. She realizes only from the careful placement of Lexa's hand that her head is bandaged. That would account for some of the ache when she turns her head. "We can talk about that later. Right now, I need you to focus on healing."

“Right, but that seems like something you’d need to know, not to mention the others...” A thought occurs to Clarke then, and she winces a little even as she asks, “How long have I been here? Like this, how long have I been asleep?”

"A little over a day and a half," Lexa says. Her fingers entwine themselves with Clarke's. "We rode hard through the night, and made it back to Polis yesterday morning. You have been in and out ever since."

“A day and a half...” Clarke exhales, mentally tabulating everything she can remember about concussions. So far nothing seems to be amiss...but it’s not as if she can thoroughly examine herself, not like this. She’ll have to wait for Carlisle. “Did you discover what _Azgeda_ was doing? They had to be in _Trikru_ territory, we weren’t riding for that long. But how they got an entire army encampment in without Indra knowing...”

"They didn't." Lexa's tone goes sour, her expression stormy. She stands and paces a few feet away, what must have been a pent up anger rearing its head in a matter of seconds. "Their encampment is just over their border, far enough away that Indra's scouts wouldn't have noticed it. And they have never taken kindly to open movement over that border, so they can redirect any passing traveler well away from it."

“Meaning... _Azgeda_ picked the spot on purpose, knowing _Trikru_ scouts would do half the job of keeping people away.” Clarke inclines her head thoughtfully - which hurts, and she winces a little again. “You said 'is.' They’re still there?”

Lexa sighs, and there's a hardness in her jaw Clarke hasn't seen in a while. "They are, yes."

Clarke nods slowly, careful not to let the twinge of pain show on her face. “I didn’t see much of the camp, but the amount of people coming and going, different warriors and guards throughout the day...there have to be at least a couple hundred of them.”

There's silence for a moment as the Commander takes in this information, her eyes focusing on a point somewhere in the middle distance. Then a knock sounds on the door, bringing her back to the present.

"We can discuss this later," she says, and goes to answer it.

From the sound of the conversation, Elena has arrived to respond to the bell. Lexa asks her to send for Carlisle, and to bring up something easy to eat. Then she returns to the bedside, carrying a cup of water.

"Here," she says, sitting on the edge of the bed again. "Sip on this."

Clarke pushes herself up on the bed, so she's leaning on the pillows more than lying on them. She does as she's told, though she does have to use both hands - her right still feels a little shaky from the bruising on her knuckles, but that combined with the two fingers she can use on her left prove effective enough. 

Lexa watches this with a dark look in her eyes, pain and anger flashing across them in equal parts. "This wasn't your fault, you know," Clarke says quietly, bringing Lexa's attention back up to her eyes. "Yours or Ronnie's."

Lexa smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "It is kind of you to say so," she says quietly. "But that is simply not true."

"It is true." Clarke sets the cup down on a table next to her - it must've been pulled over while she was asleep - and cups Lexa's cheek. "You couldn't act on information you didn't have, and nobody knew they were there. It's not your fault. It _is_ your fault that you risked your Coalition to come and rescue me, but I guess I'm not in a position to be too upset about that."

That smile does reach Lexa's eyes now, but it's a wry one. She drops her gaze. "Awake for a dozen minutes and you already know the predicament I'm in."

"I'm a politician, it's second nature," Clarke jokes, but it comes out far more sour than lighthearted. "A part of me hoped you wouldn't come," she says after a moment, now with her own eyes downcast. "I didn't let myself think about it much, but it was clear after a while that they expected you to...that they knew something about us. And now everything could fall apart. One person isn't worth starting a war over, and unless you tell me differently, I assume that's the situation we may be faced with shortly."

"If we do, it is because they have moved against me," Lexa says, and there is violence in her voice. It has been some time since Clarke has seen her angry, truly angry - even when they argued, when everything looked like it was falling apart shortly before it even started, she did not remember feeling the full brunt of it. But it threatens to unleash itself now. "Bringing an army to _my_ doorstep, threatening _my_ peace, harming one who is _in my protection--_ "

"Lexa."

Clarke's voice is quiet, but the Commander does pause her tirade. Lexa breathes heavily, her mouth turned up just slightly in an almost-snarl, but she meets Clarke's eyes. "Thank you, for coming for me. I know what it could mean now, and we'll fix it together. Somehow. But...thank you."

Lexa's expression softens immediately. She looks down at Clarke's injured hands, and very carefully closes both of her hands around Clarke's right one. 

"I wouldn't thank me just yet," she says, a self-deprecating smile flashing across her face. It's gone again in an instant, and she, in an apparent, uncharacteristic show of nerves, taps her palm a few times against the back of Clarke's hand. "I swore you an oath," she says, and finally meets Clarke's eyes again. "I would move the earth itself before it or anything else came between us. And I meant it. And I intend to keep it."

"Well I'm alive, with at least one whole hand, so I think I can thank you now." Clarke squeezes the hand in question, gripping Lexa's tight. "I knew what it would mean, if you came. But I couldn't stop thinking about what would happen to you..." Words come to Clarke's mind: Roan's words, and Nia's. "They plan to kill you, Lexa. And I'm not just assuming that, though it would be a fair assumption at this point: they told me."

"They have been trying to destroy the Coalition for as long as it has existed," Lexa answers, as though this is the most mundane news she has heard all day. "They know that it will never truly die so long as I am alive. Of course they plan to kill me."

Clarke rolls her eyes, already impatient with Lexa's attitude at the prospect of her death. "Yes, but this was different. It felt personal, not just about power. He knew you...Roan. He was careful, but when he got frustrated it was obvious. Who is he?"

The Commander is generally very careful about her wording. As someone whose words carry great weight this is unsurprising, and can often lead to pauses as she waits to find the right ones. But this is different. Lexa looks down, and instead of the usual look in her eyes that tells Clarke the gears are turning, there's a hesitation that she is unfamiliar with. As though Lexa is about to admit to something that she doesn't want to admit. It leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of Clarke's stomach.

But before she can even begin to say something, there's a knock on the door. Both women look up and over, as though the mere looking would tell them who it is. But they both know, and Lexa turns back to her with guilt in her eyes.

"Ask me later," she says quietly, and presses a kiss to the back of Clarke's hand. Then she goes and answers the door for Carlisle.

Clarke frowns, suddenly anxious for an entirely other reason than her health. She doesn't have time to dwell on it though, as the Healer strides into the room, a gentle, solicitous smile on his face. That same smile she's seen him give patients a million times before. Instantly, she feels on edge.

"It's good to see you awake, Clarke," he says in English, which is already a change; whether on purpose or simply out of forgetfulness, Carlisle has started speaking to her almost exclusively in Trigedasleng while she's at the clinic. "How are you feeling?"

Lexa stands behind him, keeping out of the way and somehow managing to make herself small on the far side of the room. She stands with her feet rooted and her hands behind her back in what Clarke has come to call the Commander Stance in her head. Her eyes betray nothing, but the way her jaw is locked tells Clarke that she is just as anxious as she is - if not more so.

"Not my best," Clarke says, "but much better than I did. You're just as thorough as ever." Carlisle inclines his head gratefully and looks like he's about to say something, but Clarke cuts him off. "What do I need to know? Any internal damage? I'm sure I at least had a concussion, and so far am not noticing any mental deficiencies."

A switch seems to click in Carlisle at that, the question reminding him that she is not an average patient with no knowledge of medicine. He flips to a marked page in the notebook he carries, and begins to matter-of-factly read off what he's noted of her injuries: the burns on her forearms, some of which had reached second degree status, and the cuts on her upper arms, one of which had begun to look infected by the time she arrived. The sores on her wrists and ankles from the ropes, the bruising on her back, torso, and face from the beatings, all standard, all set to heal. But the extent of any neurological damage could not be known while she was unconscious, and so he sets about a few basic tests, asking her about past and current events, and using a handheld mirror to test the reactions of her eyes to light.  
  
All the while, Lexa stands a silent, anxious vigil.

"It seems you're right; nothing looks abnormal as of yet, but I would keep an eye on it. You know yourself better than anyone, and luckily you know the warning signs. Even so, I want to know immediately if you notice anything out of the ordinary." He turns to look at Lexa then. "And you as well, _Heda_. Make note of any abnormal behavior - missing words, forgetfulness, that sort of thing."

Clarke would, and does, swear that she feels fine and neurological damage seems unlikely. Nevertheless, she agrees to pay careful attention to any abnormalities. Lexa, for her part, only nods. Clarke aches to reassure her, but she isn't done with Carlisle yet.

"What about my fingers?" She flexes them without thinking and exhales sharply at the pain. Not using her hand, even her non-dominant hand, will obviously require an extreme amount of mental diligence.

"Ah, yes." Carlisle takes her hand in both of his, splaying out her fingers so he can see them each individually. "I hardly want to lavish praise on your abuser, but the breaks were remarkably clean. And the Commander got you here soon enough that I did not have to re-break them to set them. I would recommend putting a sling on this arm, or tying them together to remind you to not use them. It is possible your little finger will heal a bit crooked - that one proved more difficult to set - but otherwise, they should be fully functioning again in time.

"As for other lasting damage: I anticipate that some of your burns will scar, as will the wound on your head. But there is no guarantee of that; be sure to clean them regularly and apply the ointment I have left you, and they may yet fade."

Clarke nods along, unsurprised by most of his answers. A relieved sigh escapes her when Carlisle suggests that her fingers will be fine - even if it is only her left hand, she'd never be able to practice medicine again with only one perfectly functioning hand. Now, all she has to do is wait for them to heal. Which is, admittedly, not exactly her strong suit.

"I'll tie it in a sling," Clarke agrees, again having to remind herself not to extend her fingers. "For now, at least." The feeling of being a patient when she's normally the one doing the healing is humbling, at best. But she can't deny that Carlisle took excellent care of her. The only person she can think of, including herself, who's better is her mother, and only then largely due to access to more medical equipment. "You probably saved my life, you and Lexa, but losing the ability to use my hand would be..." she glances down at the hand in question and swallows, "difficult. Thank you, Carlisle."

In the corner, Lexa's jaw flexes and she looks away.

"Of course, Clarke. You would do the same for me," he says with a smile and a nod. Then he takes a medium-sized vial out of a pocket in his healer's robes and sets it on the table next to the bed. "I have already left medicine with the Commander to manage the pain, the burns, and the infection. But this is a dram that will help you sleep. I know this will be difficult for you," Carlisle says quickly, seeing the look that brings to Clarke's face, "but you need to rest if you are going to heal. Your body has been through quite a bit, and the best thing you can do for it is give it the time and energy it needs to heal. If that becomes difficult for you, put two drops of this into water or tea and drink it."

“I know you’re right, Carlisle. I’ll do my best, I can at least promise that.”

"Good. I would like to have you back with us at the clinic sooner rather than later, but I will not have you exert yourself before you are well again." He turns then fully to look at Lexa. "If you don't mind, Commander, I will employ you to ensure she keeps her word."

Lexa's eyes linger on Clarke a moment too long before she looks at the healer. "Of course, Carlisle. Thank you for your work here."

Lexa walks Carlisle out and returns shortly to Clarke’s side. She doesn’t take Clarke’s hand or touch her again, however - as if she knows what Clarke is about to say. 

“I’m impressed that was all good news,” Clarke muses, grabbing the water from beside her again. She’s pleased to note that her right hand is far less wobbly holding it, even now. “I told you I’m fine.”

"It is a relief that you are," Lexa says. She breathes a sigh, and Clarke realizes that some part of her must have been holding her breath. "But I will feel better when I know that you are fully healed. Until then..." 

With the commotion over with, Pip makes her presence known again by weaving between Lexa's legs on her way to the bed. The Commander looks down at the cat as she does, looking for all the world as though she has no idea what to do with this behavior. "...you can stay here."

“Are you talking to the cat, or to me?” Clarke smiles and pats the space next to her in the bed, even as she asks, “Are you sure me staying here is alright? I can just as easily stay in my room, I don’t want you to have to...I don’t know, give up your space. Not to mention people will know I’m here. If they don’t already.”

"They do," Lexa mutters, sour again. "Mostly because they have already come looking for you. If you are here, they will not be able to bother you." She watches as Pip hops up on the bed and sniffs at Clarke's broken fingers. "I suppose Pip can stay, as well. Though I do not think I have much choice in the matter."

Clarke frowns. “Who’s come looking for me?”

"A number of the ambassadors." Lexa comes to join the pair of them, sitting down at Clarke's feet. "Some are well meaning, and come to ask how you are. Those I can abide. But others are all too eager to interrogate you, and address the fallout of what has happened, and _those_ \--"

“You bully into leaving?” Clarke chuckles. “My hero. I have to say, seeing you burst through the trees on Trimani like that...under other circumstances, I would’ve had a very different reaction to that.”

Lexa barely laughs, and her smile again doesn’t reach her eyes. Clarke sighs and adjusts Pip so that she’s flush against her side, earning a disgruntled mew followed by an equally as pleased purr. “Who’s Roan, Lexa?”

Lexa hangs her head. She looks at her own hands, rubs a thumb across the opposite palm. 

"You've asked about the tattoo on my back," she says slowly. "I received it on my Ascension day - the day that I took on the Flame, and became the Commander. It was designed to ensure that I did not forget the sacrifice that my victory was built upon. One circle for every Nightblood that died during my Conclave. There are seven circles." She glances at Clarke before ducking her eyes again. "But there were nine Nightbloods."

“But...didn’t you have to kill them all?” Lexa nods, and Clarke realizes the implication before she can speak again. “You let one go.”

Lexa nods again, just the littlest bit. "We were friends, at one point. As much as two Nightbloods of the same generation can be friends. 

"The Conclave consists of a number of tests, each more deadly than the last. They culminate in a battle royale where the surviving Nightbloods fight until one remains. But Roan did not make it that far. He was injured during one of the tests, out in the woods, and I..." She takes a deep breath in, blinks a few times in rapid succession. "I could have killed him. He was wounded, disarmed...helpless. But I didn't. I couldn't.

"He escaped into the woods, and I said he had been mauled by a bear. No one suspected the lie, and I never heard of him again." Finally, Lexa looks back up at Clarke. "Until now."

“You spared him,” Clarke breathes out, as if she were holding her breath. She wasn’t, but the revelation is...she’s having a hard time processing it. On the one hand, Clarke is almost relieved. The idea that someone could survive the Conclave is oddly reassuring, but then...Lexa lied to her. Not outright, but she knew this could be a problem, someday, and she never said anything.  
  
And then there’s the fact that Lexa’s former friend just did his very best to make Clarke’s life a living hell.

“Lexa. He’s going to try to kill you.” Lexa waves her words away dismissively, but Clarke barrels on. “He’s going to try to replace you. _Azgeda_ has a Nightblood of your generation, and he is nothing like you, Lexa. He’ll destroy everything you’ve built.” Clarke closes her eyes and breathes out again, slowly. “Nia will try to win my people over, and if she can’t she’ll destroy them along with anyone else who defies her.” She opens her eyes and meets Lexa’s, and can feel the anger burning through them even without Lexa’s expression changing from one of nonchalance to resignation. “Or she’ll try to, which is bad enough. You should have told me.”

"I didn't know," Lexa answers with a sigh of her own. "He disappeared. There hasn't been a whisper of him for nearly a decade - he had gone and died anyway, for all I knew."

“But you didn’t know! He could’ve turned up at any time, and if he did you’d have to...” Clarke exhales again and Pip emits a growl, warning Clarke that her fingers are less than gentle. She relaxes them, barely. “He doesn’t seem to remember you saving his life. Or if he does, that didn’t stop him from trying to hurt you.” The _through me_ remains unsaid, but hangs heavy between them.

Lexa's eyebrows go up, and she smirks a smirk that is both unkind and directed at herself. She looks at her hands again. "I told you not to thank me just yet," she says softly.

Clarke rolls her eyes and tries to move, to pull Lexa toward her - and stops suddenly, the pain in her ribs at the gesture making her breathless. “You should have told me,” she says when the pain subsides. “It was stupid to think he wouldn’t survive, and that he wouldn’t think to take your place. You should have told me,” she repeats, and her voice softens,  
"but that doesn’t make what happened to me your fault. It doesn’t. You saved my life, Lexa.”

Lexa is already shaking her head. "I put you in danger, Clarke--"

“You _saved me,”_ Clarke cuts her off. “Lexa, please. Don’t blame yourself for what Nia and Roan have done, what they did...” Clarke purses her lips. She shoos Pip off the bed, much to the cat’s annoyance, to make space next to her. “You can’t protect me from everything, but you can do something about whatever situation is in front of you. I needed you, and you came. And I’m fine, I’m here, with you. Please don’t blame yourself. Blame the people who deserve it. And while you’re doing that, come here.”

Looking up at her from the corner of her eye, Lexa continues to have an air of guilt around her. Then, without comment, she scoots herself up the bed to sit against the pillows beside Clarke. On what has become, without either of them actually declaring it so, her side of the bed. 

"We knew this would be a possibility," she says quietly, and Clarke thinks that it is as close to agreement as she is going to get.

“We did,” Clarke confirms. “And if it had to happen to one of us, I’m glad it was me.” Lexa looks absolutely indignant at that but Clarke shrugs. “Can you imagine me leading an army of mini Commanders, riding Maya and swinging a sword? Competently, for that matter?”

"You would have found another way," Lexa grumbles, only a little petulantly. "A smarter way, no doubt."

“I would have done anything I had to.” Clarke curls into Lexa’s side, ignoring the pain in her head and ribs at the movement. “Anything. Smart or otherwise.”

"Then we are on the same page."

Lexa carefully moves her arm behind Clarke's head and shoulders, holding her as best she can while avoiding Clarke's injuries. "When I found out what had happened, I was just so...so _furious_. I was ready to burn it all down, turn everything to rubble, until I found you." Lexa shifts just a little before admitting, without looking at her, "I was terrified."

“I know the feeling. Roan is...very determined to hurt you. I kept imagining what would happen if he did.” Clarke squeezes her eyes shut as if that will block out these thoughts, but it only makes the images more vivid.

Lexa gives her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "They won't get the chance," she says quietly. " _Azgeda_ has hated me my entire life, and some lives before that. But they have never been able to get to me in this one. And I do not intend to let them start now."

“They won’t even get close to you, if I have anything to say about it.” Clarke’s voice is quieter now and she’s suddenly tired again. “I should talk to the other ambassadors, reassure them...and Ronnie...”

"Shhhh," Lexa urges, turning to press a kiss to the top of her head. "There will be time for that later, my love. Rest now."

Clarke struggles to stay awake, but it becomes clear that her efforts are futile. She feels safe for the first time since she was kidnapped, and the feeling very quickly results in her falling into a restful sleep.

When Clarke next wakes up, it's to a similar scene. Pip is back, this time snoring softly at her feet, and she can hear Lexa in the next room talking with someone. Elena, perhaps. But this time her head feels like its somehow both being crushed under concrete and on fire, which says nothing of the rest of her body. She feels exactly like someone might after being beaten for an entire day.

It takes her several seconds just to register the medicine Carlisle had described on the table next to her but when she does, she quickly identifies the pain medication. She's never needed water to swallow pills, which it turns out now is a blessing - she's not positive she could even lift the water again at this point. 

The medicine won't work immediately, of course, so Clarke lies back on the pillows and closes her eyes, waiting. Eventually it must work, because she's able to fall asleep again.

This cycle repeats itself a few times, with more and more waking hours in between. Lexa is almost never out of the room when Clarke wakes up, and when she is the Commander returns within minutes. Clarke instructs her, to Lexa's annoyance, on how to redress the burns and cuts on her arms and where to apply the necessary ointment for each. Lexa mumbles throughout that Carlisle has shown her how to do this and that she's perfectly capable, but follows Clarke's instructions anyway.

More than once, Lexa returns to her room to find Clarke sitting up in bed or walking around the room. Clarke is determined to get back on her feet, literally and figuratively, as soon as possible and attempts to inform Lexa that walking regularly will help with that...but the Commander asserts her authority, at least the first couple of times, and practically scoops Clarke up and places her back in bed. She does, at one point, do just that, and Clarke isn't sure whether she's more pleased to be in Lexa's arms or annoyed.

"If you won't take care of yourself," Lexa grumbles as she brings her back to bed, "you must know that I will."

As the pattern repeats, however, it becomes clear that the Commander begins to lose patience with her patient. While that expresses itself as frustration at first, there is gradually a turn that only Clarke could manage: she gives up. Rather than try to keep her in bed, Lexa settles for keeping her in the room. And when Clarke grows tired of being treated like an invalid, the Commander is at last pestered into talking politics - though she remains adamant about allowing no other politician to see her.

"If you're going to talk to the others," Lexa says at one point, sighing in defeat - she sits in a chair across from where Clarke sits on the couch, her elbows on her knees, "Then we should probably debrief first. I have to know what they asked you."

Never mind that Clarke has tried to tell her precisely that for days now, and was shut down with a "you should rest" every time.

At this point, it's been several days and Clarke has assessed that the burns at least don't need to be bandaged, as well as the cut on her left arm that wasn't in danger of infection. She keeps the bandage on the other, trapping the ointment beneath it, but at this point the only risk with the burns is scarring and the ointment does just as fine without a bandage as with. The sling, however, is still there and Lexa has insisted that she keep the bandage wrapped around her head in place. Never mind that Clarke has more medical knowledge and knows that with the stitches Carlisle provided and the medicine it should be fine by now. No, she has to keep it on.

"As I've been trying to tell you," Clarke says, rather pointedly, "Roan asked me quite a lot of questions. I don't remember them all...after a while I was just focusing on..." she glances at Lexa and swallows what she was going to say. "But I remember some. He wanted to know about _Skaikru._ How many people are in the Mountain, what weapons and technology we have and how much of each, how many soldiers, et cetera. He asked me similar questions about Polis and some of the other clans. He asked what you and I discuss when we're alone...and what your weaknesses are. He asked me that twice, before he started doing this," and she wiggles the untaped fingers on her left hand.

"My weaknesses?" Lexa repeats, and her eyebrow twitches. "As in, what my priorities are? What I value?"

“I don’t know,” Clarke says truthfully. “He wasn’t very specific. Which honestly led me to believe that he was alluding to us. He did that...not infrequently.”

Now Lexa frowns, a deep furrow creasing her brow. "You think he knows, then?"

"If you were friends when you were Nightbloods..." Clarke tries to be as gentle with her wording as possible. "I don't know when he joined _Azgeda_ , but he must have known about Costia. And their ambassador has informed them that we're close, that we spend time together just the two of us. Nia seemed less convinced, but I wouldn't have a hard time drawing my own conclusions, if I were him."

"As long as he suspects, rather than knows," Lexa says, nodding as Clarke speaks. "It is a slight difference, but an important one. It indicates something about the extent of their information - and whether or not we have been betrayed."

"It seems pretty clear that we have," Clarke snorts. "If you can call _Azgeda_ turning on you 'betrayal.' Seems betrayal requires some element of surprise. But I don't think they know for sure, I'm sure Roan would have made it far clearer to me if they did. He would have enjoyed using that information against me, I'm sure."

"Then we have successfully kept whoever is feeding them at arm's length," Lexa says, and seems reassured by that. There is an air about the Commander every time this topic comes up, or when she takes too direct notice of Clarke's injuries; a haunted air, as though she is constantly trying to avoid looking at a ghost that is standing right in front of her. But she doesn't mention Costia, and rarely acknowledges that she has been here before. In this moment, at least, that air recedes.

There is only so long that Lexa can keep Clarke from the fallout of her kidnapping, and she gradually wheedles the Commander into talking about politics: speculations of what _Azgeda_ might be up to, and what to do if their suppositions prove correct. But that is not enough to alleviate the cabin fever setting in, and before another two days pass Clarke makes it blatantly clear that if she continues to be confined to this room, she will lose her mind. The next morning, Lexa - begrudgingly - relents in this as well.

With sleeves covering her burns and her head uncovered, Clarke follows Lexa down to the training room. In the time that she's been recovering winter has returned to Polis, bringing with it more snow and temperatures that make training outside impossible. So the indoor space has been put to use once more, and when they arrive they find it is already occupied: Kita, surprisingly, is in the process of beating the stuffing out of a dummy with a practice sword, and Ronnie, with his arm in a sling, stands by the door and watches. As soon as the door opens he turns, and when his eyes alight on Clarke he pushes away from the wall he was leaning against.

"Clarke?"

Clarke’s face lights up when she sees him. She knows he’s alright, believed Lexa - and Carlisle, when she pressed him - that Ronnie was fine and recovering easily. But it’s another thing to see him, standing upright and looking the same as always, when the last time she saw him he was lying, presumably dead, on a forest floor.

“Ronnie! I’m so glad you’re okay.” He doesn’t run to her like he normally does, and his smile is disturbingly absent. “You are okay, aren’t you?”

"Yeah! I mean - yeah, I am," he says, and attempts a smile. It falters in the first two seconds, and his eyes anxiously catalogue her person. She feels a brief touch on the small of her back as Lexa passes, but then the two of them are left alone. "Are you alright? I mean, not alright - I heard - you know - but do you feel--?"

Clarke doesn’t hesitate - in just a few strides she reaches him and yanks him forward into a fierce hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay. Last I saw you...I had no idea if...” she trails off, the feel of slow tears on her cheeks. “I’m fine. Lexa and Carlisle took good care of me.”

"I'm glad," he says with a short chuckle. But his voice is strained, and Clarke realizes she's crushed his arm in between them in her haste. She releases him quickly, and he looks up at her with a small - but honest - smile. "I thought...well, I'm glad you're okay. And that you're glad to see me."

“I’m always glad to see you!” He visibly perks up at that, but Clarke’s expression remains serious. She can tell that he’s hesitant, that he feels guilty somehow. “That’s why I was worried for you, and why I would never blame you for what happened. We were outnumbered, and they planned their attack carefully. We’re both lucky to be alive.” Ronnie’s hazel eyes are hesitant to meet hers, so she crouches down a little. He isn’t much shorter than her, but it has the intended effect - he finally looks back up at her. “It wasn’t your fault, Ronnie.”

He looks at her like she's grown an extra head. "I'm a Nightblood," he says, as though that should be explanation enough. When it isn't, he goes on: "A few random warriors shouldn't be an issue. If I'm not strong enough to protect one person I care about, how can I be strong enough to protect everyone the Commander is supposed to protect?"

“Honestly, between the two of you!” Clarke wants very much to throw her hands up in a show of exasperation, but stops at the last second. She settles for a very loud huff. “One person can’t combat an entire army, and one person can’t protect thousands of people alone. The Commander doesn’t even do that, she has help. That’s why the Coalition exists.” Clarke sighs, realizing this is surely falling on deaf ears. “How about this. You keep training to be the best warrior you can be. And I’ll keep training too, and next time,” even just positing a next time makes her heart skip a beat, but she continues, “we’ll protect each other.”

The huff draws Lexa's attention, but when Clarke glances up at her over Ronnie's shoulder, she quickly goes back to speaking with Kita.

Ronnie doesn't notice any of this, his eyes having fallen to the ground again. He taps his knuckle against his thigh and glances up anxiously at her as he confirms, "So you're not angry with me?"

Clarke’s expression instantly softens, as does her voice. “No, Ronnie. Of course not. I’m angry with a lot of people, but none of them are you. I’m only glad you’re okay.”

He nods a little then, quietly taking that information in. When he finally looks up at her, a smaller version of his usual grin finally appears. "Even if I can't go back to training you yet?" He asks, indicating the sling on his arm. "Broken wing, and all."

Clarke laughs and lifts her own injured 'wing.' "I doubt I'll be doing much training myself for a bit. It's just my fingers, but they might take a while to heal. Believe it or not, training isn't the only reason I like hanging out with you - it's just a good excuse to see you." She nods at the bandaging around his arm. "Have you been changing that regularly? And by regularly I mean at least three times a day."

He looks down at it. "Uh," he says, and up at her. "I change it when I wake up and when I go to bed?"

"One more time, in the middle of the day, so you can clean it," Clarke says, her healer-to-patient voice coming out. "Until the stitches are out."

Ronnie rolls his eyes playfully. " _Sha, Wanheda."_

Clarke nods, for once not displeased at the title. "Good."

Kita and Lexa are still chatting on the opposite end of the room, the former having paused her efforts to destroy the training dummy. "So why are you down here, if you're not allowed to train?" Clarke asks and leans against the wall much the same way Ronnie had been when she walked in. "Just watching?"

"Well, yeah. I felt a little left out," he says with a sheepish shrug. But given that the rest of the Nightbloods aren't here yet, that doesn't fully explain it. "But...I also wanted to see you."

"I would've liked to see you sooner," Clarke nods over at Lexa, "but our Commander had me quarantined."

"I figured as much," he says with a grin, and wiggles the fingers sticking out of his sling. "She's the one who told me no, too. Though I don't think I could train now, even if I wanted to. Which actually..." He catches Kita's eye and flags her over. "That reminds me."

Kita excuses herself from speaking with the Commander, who turns to watch them with mild suspicion in her eyes. The older Nightblood stops in front of Clarke and puts her first over her heart. " _Wanheda_ ," she says, by way of greeting. "I am glad to see that you are recovering."

"Thank you, Kita." Clarke imitates the gesture, used to this greeting by now. "For your concern and for helping to...rescue me." Saying that, even knowing that she likely would've died if she hadn't been rescued, smarts. She understands Ronnie's feeling of disappointment at failing to spare himself and the people he cares about from danger more than she'd like to admit. "I feel fine, except for being one-handed, at the moment."

"This is good news," she says, and allows herself a small smile as she nods. "I am just glad that we were able to find you. You were brave, to have gone through what you did and come out the other side. 

"But Ronnie and I have been talking," she goes on, and nods at Ronnie, who looks up at Clarke. "And, seeing as he will likely be unable to train for some time, I would like to offer my services in his place."

Clarke can't help the surprise from showing on her face. "Really? You are certainly under no obligation to do so...I think I may have bullied Ronnie into training me in the first place."

"I volunteered," Ronnie pipes up.

"It isn't an obligation," Kita answers. She sets the training sword she still holds point-down against the ground, and rests both her hands on the pommel. "Think of it as a sign of respect. For what you've endured on behalf of all of us."

Clarke cocks her head to the side, considering Kita and her proposal. She seems sincere - in fact, as Clarke has often noted, she’s so like Lexa in some ways that it’s possible she could only be sincere. And if Clarke has to spend one more day trapped in Lexa’s room...

“Alright, well thank you. I will happily accept, so long as my current teacher approves,” Ronnie smiles again and nods. “Good. Though I do currently only have the one useful arm...”

Kita's smile doesn't waver. "It is your dominant arm, at least, and I will be certain not to tax your injuries. I fear what Ronnie might do to me if I did."

Or what the Commander might do, for that matter. As Ronnie offers a bantering response to Kita's comment, Clarke catches sight of Lexa over her shoulder. She has stopped all pretense of training and watches the exchange between them, her disapproval written blatantly on her face. But when she catches Clarke's eye in turn, she says nothing; just goes back to what she was doing, as though knowing already that it isn't her place to interfere.

"We wouldn't have to start today, of course," Kita says, and the words directed at her draw Clarke's attention back. "I would not blame you if you are not prepared. But the offer remains, whenever you feel ready."

"And your healer approves," Ronnie adds quickly.

"Does he? What a relief." Clarke looks between the two of them and can't help a glance back at Lexa - who is now setting up her own training equipment, pointedly not paying attention to them. "Well as it turns out, I did bring tape with me..." 

She can practically feel Lexa's eyes turn back to her, but Clarke keeps her focus on what she's doing. The sling slips off easily enough as Clarke fishes the tape she'd brought with her out of her pocket. Not that she'd anticipated this, necessarily, but it had occurred to her that morning when they were preparing to leave that if she did want to do anything other than stand around, tape would serve her better than a sling.

Kita and Ronnie watch with interest as she tapes the three fingers together, the latter occasionally asking a question. "No," Clarke laughs at one point, "they aren't going to be stuck that way if I leave the tape on." 

When she's done, she tests the mobility of her remaining two fingers by flicking Ronnie's shoulder. "Ow!"

"That should do it. Where do we start?"

Kita nods. "Right this way."

True to her word, she does take it easy on her this time around. She gives Clarke a training sword and leads her through familiar forms, acting as an "opponent" that moves in response to each step as though to demonstrate a real world application for each. Not that anything they do even resembles a fight, each movement starting and stopping at Kita's behest. Clarke gets the sense that this is as much for the Nightblood's benefit as her own, giving her a chance to measure up where Clarke is, the progress she has made under Ronnie's training.

But it does benefit Clarke. After more than a week without training and several days of basically no physical activity, recreating the forms proves to be taxing enough. Her muscles remember the movement well, but her energy is drained far faster than it should be. By the time they finish, Clarke is for the first time aware of the toll healing has taken on her body.

It feels good - better than good - to be training again. Part of Clarke, even a very small part, must have doubted her ability to truly get back to her former self. If not mentally, at least physically. But training with Kita, hard though it is, proves that she's still the same Clarke. A little more broken than before, but at this point one more broken or bent piece of herself hardly makes a difference.

Clarke does stop Kita eventually, less than an hour after they began. "I feel better," she says between pants. "Much better. But also exhausted."

"The sign of work well done," Kita says, nodding again. She rises from the fighting stance she had been occupying, letting her training sword fall to her side again. "For someone who has been training for so little time, you move well, Clarke. I look forward to seeing what you can do when you are better."

On a normal morning, Lexa would be training twice as long as Clarke, if not longer. But Clarke sees her putting her equipment away, watching her in that concerned, anxious way that Clarke is sure Lexa thinks she doesn't notice. Lexa has been looking at her that way a lot lately.

"This whole one-handed situation comes with an odd silver lining," Clarke says to Kita as they make their way to the racks of equipment to return their swords. "I don't have the option of convincing Ronnie, or you, to train with knives or a bow. Now I'll really have to learn how to use a sword."

That draws another small smile to Kita's lips. "There are worse things to have to learn."

"How do you feel, Clarke?" Ronnie asks, coming to her side now that training has stopped. "I mean - exhausted, obviously, but do you think you want to continue? Tomorrow, or the day after?"

The fact that Ronnie is as excited as ever at the prospect of having her around, even if he's not her teacher, makes Clarke's heart feel lighter than it has in days. 

"If you'll be here and are willing to keep training with me," Clarke addresses Kita, "then I'll be here tomorrow. Any excuse to get out of our--" she clears her throat in a somewhat underwhelming attempt to cover up the blunder, "my, room, is welcome at this point. And this is a great excuse."

Ronnie might have caught it - after a beat, his brow puckers - but Kita just nods. "Then I will meet you back here tomorrow morning," she says, and looks at Ronnie. "I'll be sure your teacher is here to supervise."

"I've been waking up on my own for weeks now!" Ronnie grumbles, whatever thought on his mind immediately lost at the implication.

Clarke shakes her head at the two of them, but can't help a small smile from forming on her face. They take a few steps to the side, Kita organizing the exercise equipment she plans to use and Ronnie complaining for apparently not the first time about not being able to train one-handed himself. Kita reminds him that the stitches in his side might open if he trains and that Carlisle gave strict instructions not to allow him near weapons for several weeks.

As if on cue, Lexa appears next to her, that same look apparent on her face. "I know my limits," Clarke says before Lexa can give her another lecture on the importance of rest. "I'm fine. In fact, I feel better than I have since I got back."

That doesn't make that look go away, but Lexa doesn't argue. "How so?" Is all she says.

“I feel more like myself,” Clarke says honestly, and shrugs.

Lexa nods, obviously resigned to losing this argument. "Promise me that you will not push yourself too hard," she says - and when Clarke rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to protest, she holds up a hand to stop her. "I know you know your limits," she says, quoting the words from just a moment ago, but there is no sarcasm or affectation on them. Only earnestness shines in her green eyes. "Just. Promise me."

Clarke closes her mouth and nods. "I promise. But aside from checking up on me, why aren't you still training? You're never done this early." Even as she speaks, her good hand slips into one of Lexa's. "You don't have to stop for me, I can take myself back upstairs."

Lexa glances quickly back at the Nightbloods, who are happily entertained by their preparations. Her hand closes around Clarke before her eyes even land on them.

"Are you certain?" She asks, swiveling her attention back to Clarke. "It would be no trouble. I can at least walk you up--"

"I'll be fine. I promise," Clarke adds, pointedly. "I'm just going to go wash up. I'm sure I'll be reading on the couch by the time you get back, whenever that is."

The Commander lets a breath out of her nose. "Alright. I will stay to train the Nightbloods, then; I have been neglecting that duty too long. I'll return for lunch."

Clarke gives her a kiss on the cheek by way of goodbye, and when Lexa raises an eyebrow Clarke just laughs. "I don't think we have to worry about the Nightbloods. Besides, they're smart kids - I think they might be onto us."

"I have been acting with the utmost discretion and have no idea what you're talking about," Lexa grumbles.

"Uh huh." Clarke gives her hand a final squeeze before making her way back into the tower. "I'll see you upstairs."

The sound of hustle and bustle echoes up the stairwell from the lower floors even at this early hour, but there are few souls awake and unoccupied on Clarke's route to Lexa's room. Few, that is, except for one purple clad figure that she spots standing before Lexa's door, apparently contemplating the flame carved into its dark wood.

Titus turns at the sound of her approach, his eyes taking in her form in a quick sweep from head to toe and back. "She has remained at training, I take it?" He asks, folding his hands into his sleeves.

"Yes," Clarke says, already wary. Titus has made no secret of his dislike for her, but this is the first time they've been alone since they met - when Clarke found the book of Commanders. "I'm sure she'll be back shortly, if you have something you need to discuss with her."

"It is just as well," he says, turning back to the door, and sighs. The way he's standing prevents Clarke from getting into the room without passing into his immediate space, but he doesn't move - or even seem to notice. She doesn't know that she's ever seen the man so preoccupied; his brow creases with his distress.

Clarke puts her hand on the door even as she says, a little uncertainly, "I'm happy to relay a message for her, if you'd like."

She has spoken to him and stands all but directly in front of him, but it still takes a moment for his eyes to return to her. When at last they do, there is no small amount of reluctance in them.

"It pains me greatly to say this," he mutters, and indeed it sounds as though it does. His brow crumples further. "But you are perhaps the only one she will listen to now. Ancestors know she has stopped listening to me.

"The Commander must be persuaded to face this publicly," he goes on, and his voice is hushed and urgent now. "Issuing statements on what has happened stemmed the tide for a time, but while she lingers in private her enemies gain strength. If she is to halt them, she must face them."

Clarke's brow furrows in nearly a mirror image of Titus's. "What do you mean by publicly? She hasn't addressed this with the other ambassadors yet?"

"There was a brief meeting when she returned," he answers. "Ever since then, we have only been able to repeat what was already said and those who were mollified by that no longer are. Those who ask for more are met with rage and turned away - and the Ice Nation has been using this to their advantage."

"I was planning to meet with the ambassadors in the next few days." Clarke doesn't add that this plan had not been shared with Lexa and is in fact, annoyingly, contingent on her unlikely agreement. "I assume many of their questions are for me. If it were up to me, I'd already have spoken to them." She nods, if a little reluctantly, at Titus and at herself. At least in this, they are unlikely allies. "You're right, we need a plan. Or at least a position. I'll talk to her."

"Please do, _Wanheda,_ " he says, and is every bit as reluctant as she. "I fear what will happen if we do not."

He leaves her with little more than that, taking all peace of mind she might have had with him. Setting her jaw, she turns the knob and enters Lexa's room.


	13. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: explicit sexual content (oral)

It feels strange, coming back to Lexa's room this early in the day and without her in it. She undresses in the bedroom, intent on replacing her training clothes with something more comfortable, and in the process catches sight of herself in the mirror. It isn't the first time; for all that Lexa is a utilitarian in many things, the mirror in her room is large and decidedly difficult to miss. But something about her own reflection catches her eye this time, and she stops to look - really _look_. 

She sees the places where she was hit, where motley colored bruises of various sizes and states of healing spread across her ribs, her jaw, her hips and thighs. The cut on one arm, shallow but long, now mostly scab; the other, positioned a little lower on the opposite arm, still trying to catch up. She turns her wrists out, looks at the remainder of the burned skin there from a distance of a few feet, seeing the way the details fade and only vaguely warped skin remains. She puts a hand to the place where some of her hair was shorn away, so that the wound on her head could be treated. She touches all of these parts of herself, battered but healing, where bone and muscle stick out where it hasn't before, and for the first time becomes acutely aware of the toll that recovery has taken on her body.

Clarke has been, she knows, subconsciously repressing the memories of being kidnapped. She can tell by the way she naturally dismisses conversation that seems in any way related to her experience at Roan's hands. It just hurts her heart, to see Lexa's eyes full of guilt and pain every time the topic comes up. Clarke would rather avoid it, but avoiding it has meant avoiding the reality of what has happened to not just her body, but her mind as well.

She sighs, already tired just looking at her own skin, imagining the amount of work her body still has to do to repair itself.

A black robe, as always, is hung on a hook in Lexa's bathroom and suddenly it feels like far too much effort to put on real clothes. So Clarke drapes the robe around her shoulders and curls into a chair with a book. It barely registers what book it is, she's read so many in the past week, before the familiar position lulls her to sleep.

Her dreams have never been particularly discriminatory, and this one is no different. Wells, Raven, her mom - they all make an appearance as Arkadia burns, and white painted warriors cut down her friends. And at the center of it all, nonsensically, an _Azgedan_ army encampment and a single chair, a cackling Roan waiting for her there. The sudden knowledge that Lexa isn't with her, that she's gone...

Or so she would characterize it, after waking up. But in the moment it feels so real, so horrifying, that she wakes up fighting the hands on her shoulders.

"Clarke! Clarke, it's me - you're okay!" Lexa sits on the arm of the chair, holding her down as she struggles. "You were just dreaming. You're safe."

"Sorry, I..." Clarke gulps down a few deep breaths and scans her surroundings as quickly as possible. The faster she convinces herself she's awake, she knows, the faster her heart rate will decrease. "I just had a nightmare, I'm fine."

"I know. You are," Lexa answers, cracking the smallest of smiles and cupping Clarke's cheek. There is still worry in her eyes, Clarke notes. "Just breathe, my love."

"I'm fine," Clarke repeats, though this time more to herself than Lexa. "I'm... I'm okay, I promise." She presses a hand against the one Lexa placed on her cheek, initially to reassure the Commander but largely to reassure herself that she's there. Eyes closed, a few seconds later, and her breathing is back to a somewhat normal cadence. "How was training?"

"Successful, I would say," Lexa answers. She still watches Clarke's eyes, but for what she's not sure. Her other hand dips to the ground and picks up her fallen book. "By the time I came back, you were fast asleep. And your book was on the ground. Riveting story, I take it?"

"I wouldn't blame the book." Clarke stretches a little and winces as soreness creeps up her sides and down her legs. "I'm just tired, after training. A good tired though," she hastily adds, and almost hates herself for the pleading tone to it.

"That first day back can be draining - especially after all you've been through." Lexa's eyes dip to Clarke's bicep, where a fresh bandage is hidden by her robe’s long sleeve. "You have checked everything? Nothing reopened?"

Clarke waves away Lexa's question even before she's finished asking. "Yes, it's all fine. Carlisle did an excellent job, I doubt even my mother can sew and remove stitches so well." She readjusts in the chair so that she's more sitting than lying in it, unwilling to get up yet but wanting to appear more alert. "I met Titus on my way back. He came here to see you."

"Did he?" Lexa raises an imperious eyebrow and stands from where she kneels at Clarke’s feet. She crosses to the far corner of the room to pour herself a cup of something from the pitcher on the cabinet; as her eyes follow her, Clarke notices how low the sun is in the sky. The days have been growing longer despite the return of winter weather, but even so, she has slept for some time. "And what was it he wanted?"

"To convince you to actually address the ambassadors." Clarke watches Lexa's movements, keenly aware of the mood this conversation will put the Commander in. "To tell them what happened and decide on a plan of action, instead of giving the same reports every day."

Lexa just sighs. "This again," she mutters, puts the cup to her lips, and drinks.

Clarke stands, slowly, a slight grit to her teeth the only evidence of her sore muscles, and settles against the arm of the chair. "It's been over a week since we returned. They want a plan, understandably, and more importantly _we_ need a plan."

"I am working on a plan," Lexa says - in a way that sounds suspiciously like hedging to Clarke's ears. The Commander puts her cup back down and replaces what she's gulped down, then fills a second cup. Not once does she glance up at Clarke. "And I will unveil it when it is good and ready."

"Care to let me in on the secret in the meantime?"

She walks the cups back and sets one down in front of Clarke. "It isn't ready yet," she answers, and sits down heavily on the couch across from her.

Clarke sighs as she brings the cup to her lips - and finds wine in it instead of the usual water. She raises an eyebrow in surprise. Lexa must be more stressed than she thought.

"You could let me help with this, you know," Clarke says and sips at the wine. It tastes better than usual after over a week of only water, with the occasional concession made for a cup of tea. "I'd like to help."

"You're healing," Lexa says into her cup.

Clarke doesn’t quite slam her cup on the table, but it makes a very loud sound as it hits the wood.

“This has gone on long enough. I’m alright, I’m right here. I’m safe, but that doesn’t stop us needing a plan now to deal with _Azgeda_. Let me help you, Lexa. Please.”

"Help me with what?" Lexa snaps back. She sits forward and smacks her cup down as well. "With the fact that I don't have an answer? That I have, for once, walked myself into a corner that I don't have a way out of? Do you think I wouldn't have given them an answer if I had one?"

“You might, if you’d discussed it with the ambassadors,” Clarke says through gritted teeth. “Let them in, tell them what I told you about Roan, about _Azgeda_. You can’t have told them everything, if you had they wouldn’t be clamoring for more information. They would be demanding action, in some form or other.”

"Action that I don't want to take!" Lexa surges to her feet, but Clarke doesn't flinch. She stares her down, and the Commander moves around the back of the couch to pace. " _Azgeda_ has been campaigning to convince as many as they can of my affection for _Skaikru_. That I have moved against them as I have in favor of--"

Lexa bites her tongue, draws up short. She catches Clarke's eye, and Clarke raises an eyebrow in response, awaiting - daring, even - the end of that sentence. Lexa lets a breath out through her nose.

"I will not say that I did this out of _passion,_ " she says, spitting the word, and resumes her pacing. "I will not say that I regret it, or that I did not think about it, I did. I knew what I was doing, and I knew what position it would leave me in - and I would not take it back for the world. You mean more to me than that." She stops, looks at Clarke again, and puts her hands against the back of the couch. She sets her jaw and leans against it. "But I have no idea what to do now that we're here."

"They moved against you." Clarke stands and mimics Lexa's earlier pacing, her mind already flying in several directions at once. "Whether they'd kidnapped me or any of the other ambassadors, that would be the case. Even if they hadn't kidnapped someone, still they would clearly be moving against you. They're in _Trikru_ territory, without Indra's knowledge, much less permission."

Clarke pauses mid-stride to pick her cup back up and take a drink, clearly already frustrated. "I know how it looks. But we have to keep everyone on the same side, on _our_ side, otherwise..." she knows she doesn't have to say what might happen otherwise. "What have they been saying? The ambassadors, _Azgeda,_ anyone else with a voice. It would be helpful to know what I'm arguing against."

"They've been saying that I rode against one of the sworn members of the Coalition to save someone who isn't part of it at all. That I broke my own alliance and spilled the blood of my allies for _Skaikru_ , who are, at best, outsiders and, at worst, enemies." Lexa's fingers grip the back of the couch like a vice, the skin pulling tight over her knuckles. "As far as anyone else is concerned, _Azgeda_ never crossed the border. Their camp is in _Azgeda_ territory, and there's no proof that their people have ever ventured illegally into _Trikru_ lands. It's our word against theirs when it comes to the origins of the attack."

“But I haven’t given my word yet.” Clarke nods at herself, already nearly done with her cup of wine and doubly confident for it. “I’ll speak with them. If I address them myself, if they have firsthand information of what happened, perhaps that will convince them. At least that _Azgeda_ was as much in the wrong as you apparently were.” Clarke scoffs nearly as the words leave her mouth. “That will be a fun sell.”

"Those that need to be convinced are already biased against you," Lexa says, coming around the side of the couch. "They won't listen."

“They might. It’s one thing to dismiss _Azgeda’s_ actions in theory, it’s another to dismiss them when they’re in front of you,” and Clarke gestures up and down at herself.

"That would mean exposing you to _Azgeda_ again, to their questions and manipulations, and I won't have that," Lexa answers, picking up her own cup. She stands in front of the couch but doesn't sit down. "Not when it won't change the core of the problem. They have accused me of betraying the Coalition for _Skaikru,_ and having a member of _Skaikru_ speak on my behalf will not help that."

“This is why they took me. To destroy your reputation and turn everyone against you.” Clarke sighs and finally sits back down, already feeling exhausted again despite her anger. “It would’ve been better if you’d just left me there.”

If it's rare that Clarke sees the Commander truly angry, it is rarer yet that that anger is directed at her. But now Lexa turns on her, fire burning in her green eyes as she snarls, "Don't you _ever_ say that."

“I’m glad you didn’t! Of course I’m glad you didn’t.” Clarke rubs the bridge of her nose, as if that will somehow bring a new, brilliant plan to the forefront of her mind. “But it would’ve been better for my people, if indeed they’re about to face a war because of this. And for yours, for the same reason. I don’t know what to do, but I know I can’t hide from all of this.”

Lexa drops back into her spot on the couch, quiet while her anger simmers down. In a more even tone, she says, "They hurt someone who was under my protection. For those who think your people are already enemies, that will not buy us much; the rules of hospitality mean little during wartime. But it will buy us some anger from those who are more sympathetic."

Clarke nods, already feeling better for the spark of ideas that brings forth. “Right, and as long as the majority are sympathetic, that should at least buy us some time. It’s too much to hope that it will fix everything, but at least we might inspire debate. Which will give us time to figure out what to do.”

"And to discover what they're playing at," Lexa says. She drinks from her cup before tapping the bottom of it against her knee. "I can't imagine they would risk all out war, not before shoring up their alliances. But I also did not think they'd have the audacity to steal _Wanheda_ right out from under me, so there you have it."

“They’re trying to find allies,” Clarke nods. “They did a good job of it. Whatever power I held before is lessened now, although...I am still here. Being _Wanheda_ must include cheating death, as well as delivering it. Which does bring me back to speaking with the ambassadors. Will you let me go with you, next time you address them?"

A sigh deflates Lexa's shoulders, and she closes her eyes. "I still don't like it," she says lowly, but before Clarke's spike of frustration can translate to words, she continues, "but when has the world done as I would like it to. You are sure that you're up to the task?"

“Yes, of course.” Clarke reaches over and squeezes Lexa’s hand. “I’ll be fine.”

The Commander nods. "Then I will call a meeting with them tomorrow afternoon," she says, and sets her jaw, her eyes flashing flinty for a moment. "All of them. And we will set the record."

“Good. Thank you, for taking care of me.” Clarke’s mouth turns up in a small smile. “I know I can be a difficult patient. Most healers are, I'm sure.”

"I am certain you will have to return the favor at some point," Lexa answers with a wry smile. "We'll see who's worse then."

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Lexa's eyebrow goes up, and her smile remains wry. "I plan for you to be around for quite some time," she says, and lifts a cup to her lips. "In which case, the odds are decidedly against you. I have been known to injure myself in mundane and often foolish ways."

“Well, if that’s the case you’ll listen to me and do what I tell you until you’re healed.” Clarke grins. “I know how difficult you can be, but I think I might give you a run for your money.”

Lexa's smile turns sincere then. "Do you think I would love you if you didn't?

"Speaking of," she says, and stands up. She tips her head at Clarke's bicep. "Did you clean those today?"

“Ah...” Clarke frowns a little. “No, actually. I meant to when I got back, but I just sat down for a minute...or what I thought would be a minute.”

"In that case, come." Lexa has already picked up their cups and is in the process of walking them back to the pitcher. "I feel like I could use a bath."

Clarke raises her eyebrows, but does as she’s asked and follows Lexa into the bathroom. “Is that an invitation?”

"It is." Lexa looks at her over her shoulder. "If you would like to take me up on it."

She calls for water, and before long a lightly scented steam is wafting from the bathroom. They both strip, Clarke in that slightly slower, more careful way she's had since her injuries, and pad back into the bathroom. This time Lexa settles into the bath first and reaches out to offer the other to Clarke.

Clarke hesitates, but only for a moment before taking her hand. She hasn’t actually been naked in front of Lexa since they returned to Polis. The Commander has been, Clarke would say, overly gentle with her - but even so, it means this is the first time Lexa has seen her fully naked since the kidnapping and despite herself, Clarke is nervous.

"Clarke?"

She looks up at the sound of her name to find Lexa looking at her, her expression soft but concerned. When their eyes meet, something clicks for Lexa; she looks down, eyes moving slowly down Clarke's arm, over the revealed cuts and burns. She takes a slow breath in through her nose, and looks up again. She puts her hand out a little further.

"Come here, my love."

Clarke rolls her eyes at herself. “I’m sorry...” she sighs, frustrated, even as she slips into the bath. “I’ve...missed this. Missed you.”

"Don't be sorry." Lexa wraps her arms around Clarke, pulling her carefully - but snuggly - against her chest. Clarke feels her cheek against her hair, and tips her head against it as Lexa's fingers slide between hers. "I know I have been...perhaps a bit overly cautious. But I have missed you, too." She feels Lexa's chest expand beneath her, feels her breasts press into her back as she takes a deep breath in, her nose stuck in her hair. "More than I have words to express."

“Mmmm.” Clarke folds naturally against Lexa, instantly more at ease wrapped in her arms. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

"I should hope not." Lexa presses a kiss to the side of Clarke's head, and reaches for one of the many bottles lined up against the edge of the tub. "Did you see what I did the last time you were gone? I would hate to see what I would do if it happened again."

Clarke chuckles, “Good point. As if potentially starting a war isn’t enough.”

"I'll bet none of your other lovers have done that for you," Lexa hums. 

She says it nonchalantly enough, and it certainly sounds like a joke. But Clarke can feel the way the Commander's shoulders stiffen behind her, the tightness in her chest. She uncorks the small bottle she's picked up and drizzles out some of the oils inside into her hand. Putting it to one side again, she lifts one of Clarke's arms by the wrist, and begins to massage the oil into her skin.

The tub is narrow enough that Clarke can’t quite twist around enough to look at Lexa, which is initially frustrating. As is the fact that her arm tenses under the attention, as if it’s no longer used to the tender way Lexa touches it. 

Clarke turns her head farther, nuzzling into Lexa’s neck with her nose and breathing deeply. Even in here, among oils and candles and lotions, she still smells like Lexa. “None of them have given me half of what you do,” she whispers. “It would be difficult - and unfair, I think - to compare you to anyone.”

"Mm." Lexa moves down first, pressing strong, calloused thumbs into the heel of Clarke's palm, following the soft tissue between the bones of her good hand as they splay outwards. Then, working her way back up, she continues to put pressure on all those muscles on the inside of Clarke's arm that have seen fresh exercise that morning, all the way up to her elbow. "You flatter me, Clarke."

Her hands hesitate for a moment before slowly, carefully, turning Clarke's arm over again. The burns on the back of her arms, though healing, are very much still visible...and though Lexa had helped to change her bandages countless times, this is different. Lexa's thumbs skate down the sides of Clarke's arm. "Can I?" she asks softly.

It’s the barest of nods that Clarke gives, her body already far more relaxed than before beneath Lexa’s ministrations. But from her head’s position directly on top of Lexa’s collarbone and against her neck, it would be hard for her not to notice.

“Yes. I trust you.”

Lexa nods in return, the bob of her chin against Clarke's hair the only way she would know. With gentle hands Lexa goes on to clean Clarke's wounds, in a way she often has. But this time she seems to be paying attention in a way she hasn't before, as though she's making herself look, _truly look_ at each injury.

At this point the burns are all but healed, there are only scars remaining - and the ointment Carlisle left has helped dramatically with that. Still, Lexa’s fingers have a quality of being somehow both strong and gentle as they rub oil into every ridge and valley of Clarke’s skin.

“That,” Clarke mumbles, “feels amazing.” She tips her head up, just enough to be able to press a kiss to the underside of Lexa’s jaw. “I hope this isn’t guilt, motivating this attention. Because then I’d have to insist you stop, and I’d really like you not to stop.”

That draws a chuckle from the Commander, who presses a kiss to the top of Clarke's head. "It isn't guilt, then," she says, and lays Clarke's arm back beneath the water. She pours out more oil, and repeats the ministrations in Clarke's other arm - minus the hand massage.

“They’ll go away,” Clarke thinks aloud. “The scars, I mean. They’ll disappear, eventually.”

Lexa feels out of the texture of her arm. "How long, do you think?"

“A few months.” Clarke opens her eyes long enough to identify the place where Lexa’s fingers are lingering. “Maybe not that one, but the rest will be gone before you know it.”

Lexa nods a little again, and lifts Clarke's arm further to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist, then up to the scars themselves. "Perhaps we can find a way to decorate them," she says quietly, lips moving against the mottled skin.

“Mmmmwhat do you mean?”

"I mean tattoos," Lexa answers, chuckling at the lazy slur of Clarke's words. She lays Clarke's arm down again before her hands move up to Clarke's shoulders, somehow largely uninjured compared to the rest of her upper body. They begin to massage oil in there as well. "It isn't unheard of for warriors to cover their scars with new designs. Sometimes to draw attention to them, others to make them less noticeable."

“I’m not a warrior.” Clarke sits up a little, to give Lexa better access to her shoulders. “But I have thought now and again about the possibility of a tattoo.”

"We have spoken about it a few times," Lexa answers. Clarke feels her lean back a little as she presses her thumbs further down her shoulder blades.

Clarke glances down at her forearm and tries to imagine the curves of her raised skin as something beautiful. “I could draw something? Is that allowed?”

"Of course. As I've said, I designed the one on my back," Lexa chuckles. "Though, I suppose in that case, the work of the artist was in...refining it, rather than recreation."

“Well I’m sure I can find someone who can recreate something. I’ll just have to keep it simple.”

"You should make it what you want," Lexa hums, and as her hands get down by Clarke's shoulder blades, she slips her hands beneath Clarke's elbows and wraps her arms around her torso. "I will ensure we find someone who can handle it."

Clarke lets Lexa pull her back and sighs when her back molds against Lexa’s chest. “I’ll start designing something. Why not, right? I’m too Grounder for my own people, and too much of an outsider for everyone else. May as well embrace it.”

Curled around her and beneath the water, Lexa's fingers pass over Clarke's ribs, gentle and far more familiar than the vague ache of the bruises that otherwise occupy them. "Do you really feel that way?" she asks, and Clarke feels the words spoken against her ear.

Clarke takes a moment to think about it. “I think so. I don’t know that I really belong anywhere anymore.”

"Does right here not qualify?"

The water splashes over the side of the tub as Clarke laughs and twists in Lexa’s arms, a little uncomfortably but enough that she can finally reach her lips. “Yes,” she says against her mouth between kisses. “Right here qualifies.”

When she does turn back around - or really is forced to, by the odd angle she had to assume in the first place - she snuggles back even farther, somehow, against Lexa. “I don’t know if the fact that no one knows about us more preserves our relationship or holds it back,” Clarke muses, the fingers of her right hand trailing over Lexa’s forearms wrapped around her torso. “But yes, of course I belong here. Wherever you are.”

Lexa chuckles again. "I'm beginning to think we may find out sooner rather than later," she says, and presses a kiss to the corner of her jaw. She continues in a low whisper, "I just hope we don't regret it," and lays a bite against the corner of her jaw.

Clarke makes a low, _mph_ sound even as she says, “I can’t imagine regretting you.”

Lexa is quiet a moment, as though letting that sink in. As though she had lied earlier, and she did indeed feel guilty...as though this were some reassurance she had needed, and even now she needs to sit with it before she believes it. One of her hands stretches out and her fingers curl themselves between Clarke's once again. Then she hugs her.

"I love you, Clarke."

“I love you too, Lexa. Always.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, steam and perfume rising from the warm water that buoys their limbs. They alternate sipping from Lexa's wine cup as Lexa carefully washes Clarke's hair. Afterwards, beneath the surface, fingers and hands drift; Clarke has little access to Lexa from where she's sitting, but the Commander has free rein to roam across her stomach, her hips, her breasts…

She doesn’t take it much further than touching, which Clarke finds only mildly annoying. The bath is so relaxing, and Lexa’s fingers on her skin only make it more so. Clarke finds that she’s almost lulled back into sleep, but resists the temptation.

The following morning, they wake and train as usual. Kita is there to school Clarke through forms once again, under the watchful - and not un-envious - eye of Ronnie from where he stands to one side. But the air in the room is different. The Nightbloods would have no way of knowing the reason for it, but it's clear from their eyes they can sense it: Lexa is distant, preoccupied in a way that she hardly ever is. She interacts little and speaks even less, and when she does it's with a stormy expression that has nothing to do with the otherwise uneventful training session. Clarke lingers for a time even after the other Nightbloods arrive, and sees quickly that the Commander's demeanor doesn't change. She can sympathize; though she knows that this is necessary - is the thing she's been asking for for days - the prospect of facing down all twelve ambassadors after what happened makes her heart race. When the familiar dark fingers of a panic attack begin to claw at her skin, she knows it's time to leave.

She discusses strategy with Lexa as they both ready themselves in her room, Lexa in the trappings of _Heda_ and Clarke in a henley and her jacket. When all is ready, Lexa stands watching herself in the mirror for a moment too long, green eyes searching her own face for...something Clarke can't identify. Then she presses the helm of awe to its place on her forehead, and they both head down to the throne room.

When they enter, the table has been moved to the center of the room, with thirteen chairs spread around it. It's been cleared of any papers or contents, and the room's braziers are all bright with fresh flame, but they are the only people here. For now.

Clarke moves to one side, watching Lexa with half her attention and debating where to sit with the other. She’s never experienced a formal gathering of all thirteen ambassadors, and certainly not one with as much gravity as this one. She pauses by the chair farthest from where she assumes Lexa will be, thinking it may be better to distance herself from the Commander as much as possible, at least in this instance.

“I’m glad we began the day with training,” Clarke muses, even as she stretches her neck to the side. “It would be a real shame to begin it with...whatever this turns out to be.”

"To ruin it, you mean?" Lexa asks with a wry smirk. From where she stands at the head of the table, hands wrapped around the edge, it looks a lot more like a grimace. "It can't be helped, I suppose. Better to get it over with."

“I’ll still be here, when it’s over.” Lexa looks up at her and Clarke gives her what she hopes is a reassuring nod. “Whatever happens, I’ll be here. With you.”

The Commander returns the nod with a smile, small but grateful. It lasts only a moment, and then she asks, "Are you prepared?"

Clarke just looks down at herself, then back up at Lexa. “As prepared as I’ll get, I think.”

The Commander quickly understands the silliness of the question that she's asked, and for a moment looks bashful - but then there are footsteps in the hall, and the Lexa that Clarke recognizes disappears. 

The twelve ambassadors to the twelve clans gradually gather in the space in front of the table, each filing in and taking a seat. Whatever conversation that occurs out in the hall subsides by the time they cross the threshold, as though by magic. There is little question that they all know the gravity of the situation, and every face - to a person - bears the same grim expression. As they choose their seats, the alliances Clarke has come to expect display themselves in microcosm; on the side closest to her, Leif and Jada take up seats. They are followed by the ambassadors from the Broadleaf, Rockline, and Lake clans. On the far side, the Plains Raiders, Blue Cliff, Delphi, and Glowing Forest ambassadors take a seat. All eleven of them wait in an uncomfortable span of silence before footsteps are heard once more.

" _Sorry I'm late,_ " says Cole, the _Azgedan_ ambassador in easy Trigedasleng. He breezes in wearing bright white robes, a stark contrast to the dark interior to the throne room; Ilian, of Shallow Valley, is close on his heels. " _I assume you've called us all here to discuss reparations for your unwarranted attack on my people?"_

" _Reparations??"_ Jada answers in kind, a furrow forming in her brow.

“ _Reparations seems like a good topic to begin with,_ ” Clarke says, her voice steely even to her own ears. She still stands behind her chair and watches Cole as he saunters over.

When his eyes catch hers in turn, his expression goes stormy in an instant. He turns on Lexa. " _What is she doing here??"_

"She is the injured party in this case," Lexa answers in English, apparently unbothered by Cole's tone. "She has every right to be here."

"Injured party?" Cole repeats, and spits at the foot of the table. "This is an outrage. We are the ones with dead warriors, not _Skaikru_ \- and at _your_ hand, _Heda._ "

“This is a meeting of all the ambassadors,” Clarke says, abandoning Trigedasleng as well. “Why shouldn’t I be here?”

"It is a meeting of _Kongeda,"_ Eustace, Tumnas' ambassador from the Glowing Forest, pipes up. He looks from Cole to Clarke. "With respect, _Wanheda,_ _Skaikru_ is not part of the Coalition."

"Enough," Lexa says, waving a hand. "I did not call you all here to spar, and the status of the Sky People is not up for debate. We are here to discuss _Azgeda's_ violation of our treaty, and the necessary repercussions."

"Our violation??" Cole demands. He hasn't taken his seat, and now looks to have no intention of doing so; he switches back into Trigedasleng as he continues, " _You are the one who rode on my people, Commander, who brought violence to--_ "

" _Azgeda_ stands accused of the kidnapping of _Wanheda,_ _Klark kom Skaikru,_ ambassador to the Coalition from Arkadia," Lexa goes on, overriding him. "What does _Azgeda_ have to say for themselves, Cole?"

"We say," he answers sharply, "that this is an outrage!"

“I agree, this _is_ an outrage.” Clarke’s voice rises to meet his, but doesn’t take on the same outlandish tone. At least, not yet. “But that isn’t what the Commander asked. Your people kidnapped and tortured me, Cole. I can prove it, if you like.” She holds up her left hand, her three fingers still clearly stinted and taped together. “Do you have an explanation to offer for this, because I would love to hear it.”

"We have heard quite a bit about what he has to offer, frankly," Jada says, shooting Cole a look before turning her attention to Clarke. "What we have not yet heard, _Wanheda,_ is your word on the matter."

Clarke nods, already ready with a summary of the events from her time with Roan. She doesn’t sit and forces herself not to pace - only stands behind her chair, hands curled around the back. The entire story is relayed as accurately as she can remember. Not vivid or dramatized, but detailed. Clarke keeps most of Roan’s questions, particularly concerning Lexa, to herself - in fact she doesn’t even reveal his name, on the off chance anyone would remember it from his Nightblood days - but otherwise is able to relate the story in near perfect honesty. Including Nia’s short but memorable appearance.

“I was told that I was just as useful dead or alive,” Clarke finally finishes, “and my being alive was clearly beginning to agitate. I’m confident the Commander saved my life, arriving when she did.”

A quick glance at Lexa reveals the Commander's hands gripping white knuckle on the edge of the table. It's the only crack in her stoic facade.

"These are all empty allegations," Cole answers, waving a hand dismissively. He had taken a seat while Clarke was speaking, and now sits with legs folded and impatience in his eyes. "As I have said time and time again, there is absolutely no evidence that any of this, this...story, occurred. Nothing but the word of an outsider," he waves his hand at Clarke and then again at Lexa, "and the invader herself."

"We found one of your kidnappers slain in the woods," Lexa answers then. "One of my Nightbloods delivered the killing blow, defending _Wanheda._ Shall I fetch him for you, that you may hear his testimony as well?"

" _Your_ Nightbloods?" Cole answers, eyebrow raised. "I think you just answered your own question, Commander."

"Let's pretend that _Wanheda_ is lying," Leif says then, with a quick, apologetic look to Clarke. "That doesn't explain what _Azgeda's_ army was doing building a camp on our border."

Cole rolls his eyes. "As I have said, we were in the midst of training exercises."

“Is there a reason you would need to train in _Trikru_ territory? Are your own lands not sufficient enough for _training_?” The way Clarke bites out the word makes it clear what she thinks of their ‘training.’ “Perhaps you should stick to the terrain you know. Clearly some practice is needed before you’re able to...follow through.” As if there were any doubt to what she is referring to, Clarke spreads her arms and looks deliberately down at her still standing, still very much alive self, and then back at Cole.

"We were never in _Trikru_ territory," Cole answers, and it's clear his temper is rising again. "The only people claiming we were are you and Lexa."

"You will show the proper decorum to your Commander," Titus warns from Lexa's elbow.

"And why should I?" Cole stands again, "I am the one who has two dozen dead warriors, I am the one whose sovereign territory was invaded without reason, and yet _I_ am the one who's on trial here??"

"What reason would the Commander possibly have for breaking her own treaty?" Jada asks, eyebrow raised. Cole spins to face her.

"I have no idea!" He answers, hands held out at his sides, palms out and fingers splayed. "That is what I came here to find out! We all know the love that _Leksa kom Trikru_ bears for _Azgeda,_ " he turns to look at the Commander. Lexa's jaw is locked, and there is violence in her eyes. 

"Be careful what you say, Cole," she says lowly.

"You have hated us since your Ascension Day," the ambassador goes on, locking eyes unswervingly with the Commander. He steps forward, challenging her from the foot of the table. "Even before then, I would wager. What was your plan, _Heda?_ Aiming to assassinate our Queen while she was vulnerable? Are you teaming up with _Skaikru_ to oust your rivals?"

Ilian doesn't speak very loudly. In fact, had she not caught the movement of him leaning over to Eustace, Clarke might not have noticed it at all. But when he finishes murmuring something to the _Trishanakru_ ambassador, his eyes flash to hers - and then, knowing he'd been caught looking, they duck quickly away.

“An interesting use of words, Cole.” Clarke forces her voice to a normal volume. She, mostly, succeeds. “I didn’t realize _Azgeda_ considered itself a rival to the Commander, though that does explain quite a lot. 

“I am happy to speak for my people, as you all do yours,” Clarke cuts off whatever Cole was about to say with a hand - and a faster recovery. “ _Skaikru_ has no intention of ‘teaming up’ with anyone, let alone get in the middle of some years-old squabble that we have nothing to do with. Your people are safe from us, Cole.” Her eyes flash, and she can’t help but add, “For now.”

Cole's eyes go wide. "Well...well there it is, isn't it?" He looks around at the others, as though casting around for a lifeline. Or an audience. "When you decided to stay, _Wanheda,_ we were told it was because you wanted to make peace. That _Skaikru_ didn't want territory, or war, but now you stand here in front of all of us, threatening--"

" _Skaikru_ isn't threatening to do anything to anyone," Lexa says, a forced patience in her voice. 

"Commander," Eustace says, his own eyes wide, "she just said it--"

" _Skaikru is not threatening anyone,_ " Lexa repeats, her voice firmer. "They have done nothing but assist us since winter came. If it were not for their help, many in _Trikru_ would have died of contagion."

"Never mind that they have taken our food! Our territory!" Cole answers, and Clarke can feel the mood in the room shifting. Jada and Leif are tense in their seats, Eustace looks uncertain and Ilian's expression is grim. The other ambassadors are conspicuously silent. "But Lexa has forgiven them for all of that! Let them take it without payment, and now she's even turned on her own people--"

" _Jomp em op en yu jomp ai op!_ " Lexa's voice rings out in that way that it does when she wants the world to stop, and for a moment it does. Cole is drawn up short, faced now with the open snarl that the Commander bites her words off through. "Clarke was my guest, she was under my protection, and you _kidnapped_ her, _tortured_ her, and would have left her for _dead!_ You brought an army to the doorstep of my city, you sent spies into the territory of my ally, you broke my promise of hospitality, and you _dare_ to accuse me of breaking the treaty??"

Clarke is quick to follow up, nervous what Lexa’s already overflowing temper will do. “I do want to make peace, and I’m happy to continue doing so. We’ve done everything we can to prove our goodwill. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to point out that kidnapping and torturing me, nearly killing me, is not an act of peace - and strains that goodwill quite a bit. It would be helpful for everyone here if you would acknowledge that breach of trust, Cole, so that we can move forward.”

"She attacked her own people!" Cole answers, clearly feeding off Lexa's anger. "And if your story is to be believed, she did it for _you_." He turns to address the other ambassadors in Trigedasleng. " _For a Sky People girl. We joined a treaty to ensure peace and protection from attacks from outsiders, but the Commander has no interest in protecting us now. She would rather cow-tow to the invaders than fight them - she even prefers to speak their language! This is exactly why Queen Nia has tried to warn you all of her_ weakness--"

That word is the last straw. Without a sound, Lexa's hands shift their grip on the table's edge and with far too little effort, flips it.

The _crash_ of the heavy wood on the floor is enough to make a number of the ambassadors jump - including Cole. He hops backwards, shock and fear on his face and his eyes wide as he now looks at Lexa. With the bang still echoing in their ears they have all fallen into a deafening silence...making the sound of Lexa's boots on the back of the table all the more audible. She slowly, purposefully walks across its underside until she is standing toe to toe with Cole; though he's several inches taller than her, she seems to tower over him.

"If you, or your queen, or anyone in _Azgeda_ wishes to question my strength," she says, her voice low and dangerous, her eyes daring him to give her a reason to move. "They can do it to my face."

Cole fumbles in the face of that challenge, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. When it becomes evident that he will be doing no such thing, she turns on her heel.

"Until then," she says, and her voice has returned to normal. "We have all heard enough of your treachery. You're all dismissed."

Clarke’s heart pounds in her chest, to the point that she has been, she realizes, panting from the force of it. Lexa has her back to her now, but Clarke hesitates to leave. The other ambassadors file out predictably quickly, murmuring to each other as they go. Jada and Lief give her a nod and beckon her forward, the last to leave the room. Clarke glances again at Lexa’s back. She wants to stay, to ensure Lexa is alright...but perhaps it’s better if she leaves with the rest, for appearance’s sake. Decision made, Clarke follows Jada and Lief toward the door.

" _Wanheda._ " 

Clarke turns, Lexa's voice sounding just as she's about to cross the threshold. Jada and Leif hesitate as well, but Lexa doesn't acknowledge them; she doesn't turn around, so she might not even see them. "Stay a moment. Close the door."

Clarke glances between her two friends and shrugs. They don’t seem particularly perturbed, or indeed surprised. They even help Clarke close the door as they leave.

The second the door clicks shut, Clarke says, “Lexa, I’m sorry—“

"Don't." There's a note of finality to her voice, but Lexa doesn't sound angry. She just sounds...tired. Metal clinks as she undoes the strap keeping her pauldron on, and she walks to the foot of the throne. "Don't be sorry. Just lock the door; I don't need any of them coming back for a second go right now."

Clarke raises an eyebrow, but does as she’s told. When the lock clicks back into place she makes her way across the room, watching as Lexa strips herself of the Commander’s effects even as she stands there.

“I shouldn’t have said that to Cole,” Clarke says quietly. “I just can’t believe he’s able to deny everything, and that some of them still believe him...I thought better of Eustace. And all of them.”

"They're afraid," Lexa answers with a sigh. She lays the pauldron and cape down on the dais stairs, then the coat. Then, in just her black pants and long sleeve shirt, she sits heavily in the throne. With legs splayed and knees akimbo, Lexa puts her elbows on the arms and her head in one hand. "We survived the Mountain, but someone just like them just fell out of the sky. He's been stoking their fear for months."

“We are _not_ just like the people in the Mountain.”

" _I_ know that," Lexa says, lifting her head so she can gesture with that hand. "Anyone who's _listened_ to me knows that. But you have weapons like they did, machines like they did, and now occupy their fortress. And Cole is good with his words."

“Seems to be a common trait in _Azgeda_.” Clarke sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose with one hand. “I can talk to each of them alone. Maybe speaking one on one will make a difference.”

"It may. I will do the same; without his poisonous words to take control of the narrative, there may be some hope of changing minds." Lexa sighs, her hand falling to hang limp off the front of the chair arm. "You should warn your people. I do not think _Azgeda_ will try anything yet, they are not in a position to do so. But it may not be that far off."

Clarke takes a step forward, so that she’s on a level with Lexa and her throne, but doesn’t get any closer. For some reason Lexa sitting there, even while they’re just talking...it gives her more control, more power. And while Clarke might dislike that between them normally, she can understand the need for it now - _Lexa’s_ need for it, now.

“I’ll tell them. I doubt they’ll be surprised, after what’s happened, but I’ll make sure they know.”

Her proximity draws Lexa's eyes to her more intentionally, and the Commander looks at her for a moment in silence. Then she takes in a deep breath, and on the exhale the angry edges in her shoulders fade, and she sits straighter in the chair.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," she says, indicating the upended table with a tilt of her jaw.

Clarke nods, a smile creeping in at the corners of her mouth. “It was impressive, if nothing else.”

Lexa snorts, her eyes looking skyward. "At least there's that."

Clarke hesitates, but can’t quite help herself from getting closer. Like her proximity to Lexa will somehow make the Commander - and herself - feel less helpless. She settles on the arm of the throne, like she would on the side of Lexa’s couch. Lexa just watches her, following her movements with an intense look in her eyes.

"You know," she says after a time. When Clarke sat down, Lexa had to move her arm; it now sits comfortably around Clarke's waist, her thumb resting on her hip. "I don't think anyone else has ever been this close to the throne. Not in this lifetime, anyway."

Clarke shifts a bit beneath Lexa’s arm to face her more fully. “No? I assume you mean your lifetime.”

Lexa nods. "This one," she confirms - as though she's saying the same thing Clarke is. After a beat her arm tightens, pulling Clarke gradually into her lap, facing her and straddling her thighs. "I should be more upset about it than I am."

“Why should you be upset?” Clarke wraps her arms around Lexa’s neck, pleased at the change of position. “You’re still the one sitting on it.”

"An important detail, to be sure." Lexa lifts a hand to push Clarke's hair behind her ear. "I know what they will say. Later, after all this. Titus will tell me that this is almost entirely my doing - my choices, my actions." She bites her lip, but there isn't hesitation in the action. There's something else, something that makes Clarke's stomach flip. "He may be right. But I can't bring myself to care."

“He isn’t right,” is Clarke’s immediate response. “You aren’t responsible for _Azgeda’s_ actions. Any action could be traced back to anyone’s decisions, given enough steps, it’s like he’s trying...” Lexa’s words sink in then, and Clarke pulls herself up short. “What do you mean, you don’t care?”

"I know I should, but I can't bring myself to." Lexa's hands find their way beneath Clarke's thighs, and she stands. Clarke clings to her shoulders in the process, but her weight balances out against Lexa's hips - just in time for the Commander to turn and put her down in her place on the throne. "He will have his anger, and his fear. But he'll be wrong.

"They wanted to use you as my weakness, but I won't let them," Lexa takes a knee between Clarke's legs. "I made an oath to my people. I made an oath to you. And I intend to keep them both."

Clarke’s breath catches at the sudden change of position - at seeing Lexa, kneeling in front of her, while she sits on her throne. “We make each other stronger,” she whispers, and leans forward. Clarke traces the underside of Lexa’s jaw with her uninjured hand. “He’ll see that, someday. Everyone will.”

"We'll _make them_ see it," Lexa agrees - and she surges upwards to kiss her.

Clarke is surprised at the sudden force of it. Lexa’s lips crush against Clarke’s, her tongue insistent - demanding, even. It feels like an eternity since Lexa has kissed her like this, and Clarke is not about to let the opportunity go to waste. She wraps her left arm around Lexa’s middle while the opposite hand grips the back of her neck, pressing their bodies even more forcefully together.

All too happy to answer the pull, Lexa slides one knee up along the outside of Clarke's thigh and shifts forward, straddling Clarke's lap on the throne while keeping one foot planted firmly on the ground. Clarke tugs insistently at her hips, but Lexa doesn't budge; her hands are gripping Clarke's shoulders, for once not treating her as though she's made of glass as the pads of her fingers press into her skin.

But then that pressure is gone, and Clarke realizes why the Commander refused to come further into her lap: she had designs on something else, and that plan reveals itself when Clarke feels a tug at her belt.

“But, we’re--” is all Clarke is able to get out before Lexa has not only flipped her belt open but pulled it out from around her waist and tossed it to the ground.

"Think you can stay quiet?" Lexa asks - never mind the sound of a belt buckle clanking against the floor. She kisses Clarke again, rough, desperate even, before she can answer.

Clarke doesn’t even bother fighting it - in fact, she revels in it. Clarke’s breaths are desperate in kind and a quiet whimper pulls from her throat as Lexa kisses her fiercely. Her entire body molds to Lexa’s, desperately trying to keep them as physically close as possible. Her hands grope at whatever piece of fabric or leather she can find, clutching the Commander to her in a grip that’s surprisingly strong given the trials her body has recently endured.

And yet, somehow, Lexa’s hands are still able to undo the button of her pants.

As soon as she does, one hand flies up to Clarke's jaw. While the other tugs at Clarke's zipper - which chooses that exact moment to be stubborn - Lexa tips Clarke's head back with a thumb under her jaw. After one more bruising kiss, her lips move to her jaw, her ear, cutting a path hot littered with bites down her neck until she runs out of skin. At that point, she sinks to her knees once again and gets her fingers under the waist of Clarke's pants.

"Lift up," she instructs, breathless and pink in the face, her eyes wild with need.

To say Clarke wants this would be an understatement. Her skin is buzzing with nerve endings, every brush of lips and skin leaving a fiery trail of sensation that lingers for several, long, seconds. Her breath is back to panting and she can already feel the wetness between her legs. 

But somehow, through all of that, Clarke still has enough presence of mind to keep her hips firmly against the wooden throne. “Lexa.” she tries, _really_ tries, to keep her voice even - but still there’s a whining tone to it that she can’t quite overcome. “Are you sure...”

"I know where we are, if that's what you're asking," she answers, in that Commander tone that leaves little room for debate. It makes the hair on Clarke's neck stand up.

Clarke opens her mouth to say...something. What, she has no idea, because the way Lexa looks at her then - an intense mix of desire and determination that Clarke has never seen before - completely cuts her off. Instead she only nods and lifts her hips, just enough that Lexa is easily able to pull down her pants.

The Commander is clumsy in her haste and it takes her a moment to get them over Clarke's hips, down her thighs - but once she does, she doesn't bother to undress her any further. With Clarke's boots still on, her pants and underwear gathered around her ankles, Lexa wraps her arms around Clarke's legs and tugs her forward to the edge of the seat. Then, looking up at Clarke with that same look in her eyes, she leans in and runs her tongue up Clarke's core, from bottom to top.

Clarke gasps audibly as Lexa’s tongue touches her skin. It’s only been a few weeks, but it feels like ages since Lexa has touched her this way and her hips jolt upward even at that first touch. But Lexa’s hands are firm around her thighs, keeping her in place, and it’s all Clarke can do to just keep herself upright.

Especially because Lexa insists on repeating the gesture. Her tongue moves again in one long, broad stroke, parting her from the bottom of her slit to the top, only to flick firmly upwards against her clit when she reaches it. Each time wetness gathers on her tongue, dragging it upwards; every pass brings her just a little bit deeper, until eventually Lexa is no longer satisfied with her current position. Looping her arms between Clarke's legs she wraps them up around her thighs, hands closing around her hips now. Lexa then slides herself forward, inching her knee beneath Clarke's bunched pants so she can sit clear between her legs. Then, her fingers digging into Clarke's pelvis, she tugs her forward yet more, until her thighs hook over Lexa's shoulders.

And then, apparently satisfied now, she sucks Clarke's clit into her mouth.

The moan that escapes Clarke’s throat is far from quiet, but the Commander doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it eggs her on - Clarke can feel the graze of Lexa’s teeth over her clit, far from a bite but with enough controlled pressure that Clarke hears herself whining for more. The muscles in her legs begin to quiver with every movement of Lexa’s tongue, partially from the effort of keeping herself in some kind of sitting position but largely from Lexa’s unceasing attention. Her fingers curl around the arms of the throne and grip the wood hard, turning her knuckles white.

She knows she must be sensitive - and for good reason - but even so, she finds herself climbing to a peak a little faster than she might have wanted. Sensing her climb, Lexa pushes her until she's just on the cusp...and then stops. She pulls away, turning her head to press kisses and bites to the inside of Clarke's thigh, whispering sweet nothings in Trigedasleng against her bare skin. Her fingers press into the soft spot inside her hip bones, holding her down as though she is waiting for Clarke to cool down.

“Baby...” Lexa chooses this moment to bite particularly hard into the inside of her hip, earning a sharp gasp from Clarke. “Fuck, Lexa. I’ve missed you.”

The Commander is rarely one for leaving marks - the nature of their relationship doesn't allow them the luxury - but she sucks a bruise into the inside of Clarke's thigh now. "I know," she says, after releasing Clarke's skin with a pop. As she soothes the spot with her tongue, one of her hands comes down from Clarke's hip...and without looking, she presses a finger into her. "I've missed you too."

Clarke’s body responds to that immediately. Her hips naturally rise to allow Lexa better entry, and her grip on the wooden throne tightens impossibly. When Lexa doesn’t immediately follow up with her tongue, Clarke whimpers. Under any other circumstance she might be embarrassed by the sound, but now she barely registers it. All she can think about are Lexa’s fingers, her tongue, the way her fingers press and dig into the muscles of Clarke’s thighs. Everything is Lexa.

" _Ai Etwai,_ " Lexa breathes over the already darkening bruise. Then she finally, blessedly, returns her attention to Clarke's clit.

Though she'd given Clarke a moment to back away from the edge, with this combination she quickly approaches it again. Lexa's tongue moves in deliberate patterns, teasing the little bundle of nerves while she presses the pads of one finger, then two against the inside of Clarke. Even Lexa's breath is coming faster, little sounds pulling from the back of her throat every time Clarke presses forward or makes a sound of her own. Her focus starts to slip the higher Clarke climbs, the deftness of her ministrations traded in for repeated, powerful strokes of both fingers and tongue.

Clarke’s entire body is tense, her muscles clenched around Lexa in more ways than one. Her fingernails scrape the wood of Lexa’s throne, she’s sure hard enough to leave marks. 

Normally she can control, to some extent, how and when she comes. Normally, she has control over her body even when it feels at its most out of control. Normally. But now, Clarke has absolutely no control over her body’s response to Lexa’s touch. 

Orgasm builds within her like a tidal wave filling a puddle - it’s entirely and completely too much for her to manage. “Lexa...” wrenches from her lips, then, “love, I...” And that’s it. The moan that rips from her lungs is the opposite of quiet. Her hips buck, hard, against Lexa but the Commander’s tongue never leaves her clit.

She hangs on through the waves of orgasm and then some; Lexa's tongue only leaves her alone when the aftershocks leave her sensitive enough that it's almost uncomfortable. 

"Someone will have heard that," Lexa says quietly. She doesn't seem terribly perturbed by that possibility, however, as her fingers keep moving idly, and she presses damp kisses to the inside of Clarke's thigh.

“Well if anyone asks,” Clarke mutters between pants, “it was absolutely your fault.”

"That's a blame I am willing to take," Lexa answers, and Clarke can feel her smile against her thigh. "Are you alright, my love?"

“I will be when you come up here and kiss me.”

"Mm." Lexa pauses to wipe her chin. With one hand now more covered in Clarke than it was before, she stands up and slides her knee up along Clarke's thigh again. With her other hand pressed to the back of the throne, she bends down to kiss her. " _Sha, Wanheda."_

“You know,” Clarke pants against Lexa’s lips, “I don’t mind that title so much when you say it like that.” Clarke grips the back of Lexa’s neck with both hands and pulls her forward roughly, crushing their lips together once again.

After a few long moments, Clarke pulls away breathlessly, long enough to say, “This is an interesting place to choose for...this.”

"Interesting..." Lexa says, having to take a deep breath in an effort to catch hers as well. She tips her forehead against Clarke's, her face still pink and eyes hooded in contentment. "In a good way?"

“I couldn’t find something to complain about if I tried. Aside from maybe the hard seat...” Clarke chuckles. “I see why you tend to stand.”

That draws a full, honest laugh from the Commander, who surges forward to kiss her again. Clarke's lips are already a little sore from the bruising kisses earlier, but she can't find it in her to be bothered by it. 

"Thrones aren't meant to be comfortable," she says when they separate again. Taking both of Clarke's hands in hers, Lexa stands up and tugs her to her feet. "But...thank you for indulging me. I hadn't really planned for it to happen like that, but..."

Clarke pulls her pants back up with a smirk as she asks, “But what?”

"But I am not upset that it did." Lexa blushes, her cheeks going pinker than they already were. She picks up Clarke's belt from where she'd discarded it and returns to hand it to her.

Clarke looks back at the throne she’d just been sitting on - that she’d just been thoroughly fucked on - and then back at Lexa. She quickly puts her belt back where it belongs and loops her arms around Lexa’s waist, kissing her tenderly. “I’m honored to be your partner, Lexa.”

"In everything, Clarke," she says, lifting her hands to cup either side of Clarke's jaw, and it sounds like a promise. "This...mess, is terrifying, but I know we can do this. We have to be able to do this. Together."

Clarke feels that sentiment in the depths of her heart. They have to figure this out. They _have_ to. There’s nothing else to do but to fix it. And she’s sure she can do it, somehow, with Lexa by her side.

“We will,” Clarke voices aloud. “We’ll fix this... whatever this is. We will. I will do everything I can to keep my people safe, whatever it takes. But your mine now, too.”

Lexa touches her forehead to Clarke's once more and closes her eyes. "Your people are my people," she whispers, "and we protect our people."


	14. For the Throne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Alcohol

The next hours and days are spent in damage control mode. Clarke and Lexa embark on coordinated campaigns to cut the head off _Azgeda's_ allegations before they can take root; long, harried sessions in Lexa's room are attended by Elena and Titus, the latter of whom is on surprisingly good behavior considering his unchecked dislike for Clarke. It turns out that when he sets aside his holier-than-thou attitude - and she sets aside her general distaste for him - he can be a surprisingly helpful ally. There's little question that the institutional knowledge he and Elena bring to the table expedite the process considerably; Titus can cite offhand treaty and negotiation seemingly word for word at a moment's notice, giving them ammunition and angles to work, while Elena...honestly, the more Elena talks, the more Clarke wonders if she can really be relegated to _handmaid_. The information she's privy to, and the sheer amount of it, makes her think "spymaster" might be a more precise title.

By that evening, with their strategy in hand, the political work begins. The obvious place to start is with those that have good reason to be sympathetic: though there remains no hard evidence that _Azgeda's_ army crossed the border into _Trikru_ territory, there is also no denying the existence of a military encampment right at the edge of it. That has been enough to make Indra - and by extension, Leif - nervous, and both readily accept Lexa's version of events. On the other hand, while _Floukru_ has not been directly threatened there has historically been even less love between them and _Azgeda_ than between _Azgeda_ and _Trikru;_ Jada quickly throws her lot in with theirs once Clarke shares - once more, and in yet greater detail - the events following Midwinter. It's harder here, in an intimate setting with a woman she has come to consider a close friend. The fear, the pain: it all bubbles up freer now that she's out from under the ambassadors' microscope...but in some ways, it's also easier. Because she is free to visit that fear and that pain without worrying about seeing the look of agony on Lexa's face.

Jada's reaction to Clarke's story is measured, but sympathetic. She nods along and never interrupts, only asks additional questions here and there about the details that Clarke is able to recall. Even as tears start to fall down Clarke's cheeks - it hardly alters her tone or her ability to relay information, but still it bothers her that she _can't stop_ \- Jada just keeps listening. She understands that while the ordeal was terrible and Clarke can't control some of her emotional response to the memories, that doesn't make her recollection of them any less serious or worthy of consideration. It's the first conversation Clarke has had about her kidnapping that leaves her feeling better instead of worse.

"By the way," Jada says, as Clarke gets up to leave. She has put herself as back together as she can be after that, and there is more that needs to be done. But she pauses by the door, and turns to find Jada pulling something from a satchel at the foot of her chair. She extends her hand to Clarke to reveal a small, rolled piece of paper. "Helena asked me to give this to you. It is a little late now, but she wanted to make sure it made it directly into your hands. Give it a look when you have a chance."

It's not as if Clarke has been dwelling on Helena's lack of communication, but she has wondered in the last few weeks whether the _Floukru_ chieftain had been made aware of Clarke's kidnapping. She never asked Lexa and the Commander never offered the information, but Clarke had a hard time believing that Lexa wouldn't inform her friend of recent events. Apparently, she was right.

"Thank you," Clarke says aloud. "For this," she holds the rolled letter up, "and for listening."

Jada smiles a warm smile and inclines her head. "Thank you for sharing. The truth is too often twisted around here; I like to collect as much of it as I can while I can."

With the addition of Jada and Leif, the options they have open to them expand. All four begin to work, as best they can, with the other ambassadors - but nearly all of them are an uphill battle. The Plains Riders and Desert Clan, perhaps due to their physical distance from the conflict, maintain political distance as well; neither can be convinced to throw their hat in with either side. That they refuse to do so is frustrating on its face, but the more she talks with the other ambassadors the more grateful Clarke becomes for their neutrality. At least they aren't outright siding with _Azgeda_ \- which is more than she can say about some of the others. Even those she once considered her friends.

Ilian outright refuses to see her, which is a gut punch she had not been expecting. He spends most of his time working with Cole and the ambassadors from Delphi and the Rock Line Clan, so that even Lexa has to leverage her position to see him. And when Clarke makes a meeting with Eustace, their interaction begins in its usual easy way, only to devolve rather quickly after that.

"So, _Wanheda,_ " he says with a smile, setting down the pitcher of red wine he has just used to fill the cup in front of her. He smooths his robes over his stomach before taking a seat in the plush chair on the opposite side of the low table from her. His room is no larger than her own, but it's clear that he has occupied it for much longer; personal accents and luxuries are everywhere. "I assume you have come to discuss this business with _Azgeda?"_

"Yes, unfortunately." Clarke reaches for the cup but doesn't drink from it. She learned long ago to start slow when Eustace is involved. "You and I have been friends these past few months, haven't we? I feel as though we've gotten along rather well, established a certain amount of trust between us. Do you think that's true?"

"Of course I do, Clarke," he says enthusiastically. He sits back in his seat and rests an ankle over his knee, balancing his cup on the arm. They're easy words, and they come with an easy smile. "Of course I do. Why do you ask?"

"I'm glad you feel the same. I ask because it seems as though my account of events, such as I experienced them," Clarke doesn't have to point out the splints on her fingers or burns running up and down her arms - she wore a sleeveless shirt for exactly this reason, "is in question. I want to be sure you understand what happened, and I want to answer any questions you might have without the possibility of interruption."

"You have shared your story already, my dear," he says, and a brief look of concern flashes across his face. "Unless there is something more you wish to say? Something you could not impart in front of the others?"

Clarke has to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. It's not that she doubts Eustace may be concerned, but for her wellbeing...that seems unlikely, at this point, if it were ever true.

"No," she says, her tone still light, "it's not that, though I appreciate your concern. I did my best to be thorough in the retelling. What really concerns me now is what _Azgeda_ is doing with an army in _Trikru_ territory. Aside from the obvious way that broaches your treaty, the fact that they are so close to Arkadia makes me personally nervous. If they were willing to kidnap and torture me, what's to stop them from doing it to more of my people?"

"Leif promises that _Trikru's_ scouts will have a report on this missing camp soon," Eustace says, nodding sagely. "But I'm afraid until then, we have no way of knowing the veracity of that particular accusation against _Azgeda_. Even if it's found to be the case, there is the possibility that it was a mistake; Cole has already shown us documentation of the military exercises they were running in the vicinity, and the border has no physical barrier. They could have crossed it without knowing - a horrible blunder and an insulting one to _Trikru,_ but a blunder nonetheless.

"As for the rest of your concerns..." Eustace takes a slow drink from his wine, and sets it down on a second table beside his chair. He then steeples his fingers and presses the tips against his lips, his eyes on the ground as though he is sorting through his thoughts. "I...understand why you would be afraid of _Azg_ _eda._ After all," he looks up at her now and resumes his prior posture, "you have become quite close with the leadership of both _Trikru_ and _Floukru,_ both of whom have a, well - not all that pleasant history with the Ice Nation. That you would have only their perspective on the matter is only natural. But I assure you, _Azgeda_ is not at all as violent or heartless as they may have painted them out to be."

"And I can assure you that my feelings toward anyone are formed myself, not through the influence of others." Clarke sighs and takes a sip of her drink. So far this is going about as well as she'd hoped. Which is to say, not very well at all. Eustace has always maintained an air of sympathetic apathy - speaking with concern and thoughtfulness, but only when he has no real skin in the game. Or when he thinks he's on the winning side.

"You're right," she says. "I am close with Jada and Leif. But I would also count you, and Ilian, among my close friends here. I think my opinion of _Azgeda_ is a well-rounded and informed one. But it's my job to ensure that my people remain safe and that we maintain a positive relationship with the Coalition, _Azgeda_ included. I know I don't have to tell you how important that job is. I want peace, first and foremost. But I admit, it's hard to feel sympathetic toward Cole in all this after his people kidnapped and tortured me. Even I have my limits."

Eustace offers another sympathetic smile, and then deftly sidesteps that last part. "You and I have the same goals, Clarke," he says, and begins to run his finger repeatedly over the wooden edge of his chair arm. "I desire peace as well, more than anything. It is why my people joined the Commander's concord, and became a member of her Coalition. As a member state, we were promised peace through politics and through trade. But most of all, peace came because we swore to come to each other's aid when we are threatened, and had a strong leader who was able to martial us to that cause when needed."

He tips his head to one side as though to consider her, but when she takes the opportunity to speak he continues before she can get words out of her open mouth. "The unfortunate reality is, Clarke, that your people are not a part of that concord. I understand that they and _Trikru_ have built an...understanding...of a kind, such that they can coexist for now. But that is not a permanent solution, and I believe we all know that. I have no issue with temporary stopgaps, as the march of politics is often significantly slower than the events they ostensibly govern. But those stopgaps have come at the cost of the rest of our people. Your new city has disrupted supply lines, as I am sure you are aware. You have also put a considerable drain on our food and medicine stores in recent months." He tips his head to the other side. "The Commander has taken on a considerable amount of debt in order to provide _Skaikru_ with the assistance they have required."

Clarke's eyes narrow at the mention of 'debt.' Whatever Eustace's current position, he's always been friendly to Clarke. Sometimes overly so, but having already met his chieftain Clarke was hardly surprised at his disposition. Even in space, the Ark was not exempt from the privileged taking what - and, sometimes, who - they want, and here on Earth there is no more privileged clan than The Glowing Forest. But still, the harshness of his words catches her a little off guard.

"We've done everything we can to cooperate with the Coalition." Clarke's voice is decidedly less conciliatory than it has been. "It's true that we needed help at the beginning of the winter, which the Commander provided. But we've paid that back in a number of ways. We've trained innumerable healers, provided _Trikru_ and Polis clinics with advanced equipment and technology, and are still investigating ways that we can all use the technology in the Mountain. Those benefits don't have to only affect _Trikru_ and Polis, we'd happily share it with everyone - including _Trishanakru_. Are you suggesting that _Azgeda_ should be able to do what it likes with me - even as an ambassador here with all the protections that affords, even despite the goodwill we've shown? Do you think they're still justified, if my people aren't part of your Coalition?"

"Ah, justification." Eustace heaves a sigh, the smile dropping from his face as his eyes drop momentarily to the floor. "Another unfortunate reality.

"There is no justification necessary for one's action against an enemy, Clarke," he says, and somehow manages to meet her eyes with a look of pity in his own. The audacity of it makes Clarke grit her teeth. "And from where I am standing, _Skaikru_ has, at best, never been an ally to us. At worst, they are an enemy attempting to subvert our way of life. I find it convenient that their technology has been given to those nearest and most powerful first, and that they have received treatment and care in return that should be reserved for member clans. Preferential treatment, even - that the Commander could be lured into attacking her own people all but proves this. 

"I will not cast aspersions on your character, Clarke; getting as close to the Commander as you have is an admirable feat, and an even more admirable strategy. But I cannot ignore the threat that your people pose as a result of that proximity. Especially," and here, for the first time, a flicker of hardness enters Eustace's voice, "now that they occupy the Mountain."

"It isn't a _strategy._ " Clarke practically spits the word. "The Commander and I have become close because we share a similar vision. We both want peace, despite the opposition we continually face for pursuing it. That isn't a strategy, it's a common interest." 

She's essentially confirming what Eustace is suggesting by saying all of this, but Clarke can't bring herself to care. It's as if no matter what she says, these people refuse to hear her. Words aren't enough, actions aren't enough. Even scars aren't enough. If she were thrown bodily to her death from the tower, they'd probably find a way to call it an accident.

Clarke takes a deep breath and drinks half the cup in her hand in one gulp. "Why don't I address these concerns as you presented them. It is quite literally convenient that _Trikru_ and Polis have so far benefitted the most from our technology. It's winter, our mobility is limited, and these territories are closest to us. 

"We eliminated one of the greatest threats your people faced. Well, not _your_ people, but the people of other clans who you claim to care so much about. The assistance we've needed to survive the winter seems a small price to pay, but perhaps not from your perspective. You were happy to ignore the Mountain and the threat it posed to the people surrounding it when _Trishanakru_ was unaffected, and are only concerned about its residents now due to...well, aside from _Azgeda's_ apparent desire to paint me and my people as villains, I honestly don't know why you're so concerned about it, as you only stand to benefit from a greater understanding of the technology there.

"Finally, you don't seem interested in acknowledging the circumstance of the Commander's attack on _Azgeda's_ camp or the repercussions had she chosen differently, so I see no need to continue discussing it."

Clarke downs the rest of the wine and places it back on the table as she gets up. "Thanks for the wine, Eustace. Always a pleasure."

There is a sour look on his face as she does, and she gets the sense that it is, for the first time, an honest expression on him. "As always, _Wanheda_."

By the end of it all, two days have passed and Clarke is emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted. She and Lexa reconvene in the Commander's room late that second night, after yet further combined efforts, both with mixed success, to set the record straight. A meeting with Jada, Leif, and Titus, wrapped up a short time ago, provided them with an updated picture of what all their efforts have won them.

"At least we can count on Leif and Jada's support." Clarke is sitting sideways in her usual chair, sipping from a cup of whiskey she'd convinced Lexa to pour for her. "Broadleaf too, I think. Both our conversations with Waverly seemed positive, and I've never known her to be particularly deceptive. What do you think of the Lake Clan? Or Delphi?"

"Delphi will go to _Azgeda,_ " Lexa says, and lifts one hand to move a small piece of paper with their symbol hastily drawn on it to a column under _Azgeda's_. The other is wrapped around her forehead, supporting the weight of her head with her elbow against one knee. She hasn't looked up from the little chart she's been constructing this whole time. She looks as exhausted as Clarke feels. " _Podakru_...I am not certain about. There are things to be leveraged with them yet, but I do not wish to do so unless it is entirely necessary."

It's surprising, really, how quickly talk has shifted away from containing _Azgeda's_ lies to outright choosing sides. And yet, that seems to be the only thing left to be done; if her conversation with Eustace is any indication, containment is no longer an option.

Clarke heaves a sigh and flips her legs back to the front of the chair. "Well, Rock Line has claimed neutrality, at least for the moment. Blue Cliff...I'm not sure, but I think we could count on them, if needed. Peace is their foremost concern, and they see where this path will lead us if _Azgeda_ gains more power. I'll speak to Zelia more, but I feel confident we could count on her."

Another sigh and Clarke all but drains the whiskey in her glass. The burn down her throat is oddly comforting. "Count on her for what, I still don't know."

Lexa just sits quietly for a time, staring at the scraps of paper in front of her. She then takes a full sheet off a pile and a piece of charcoal, and transcribes the finalized lists onto it. She then stands and pins the paper to the wooden mantel over the fire, using her own dagger to do so. When she steps back to stare at it, Clarke does so with her; the message of the chart doesn't take long to sink in.

Them: 5

Us: less.

"We need to know what her plan is," Lexa says after a time. She sounds like she's talking to herself more than she is talking to Clarke.

Clarke nods slowly, her eyes still on the paper. "You dying seems to be an essential component, but otherwise..."

The conversations she's had with the other ambassadors over the past few days have been uninspiring at best, and utterly infuriating at worst. But something has felt consistent, something Clarke hasn't been able to put her finger on but can feel is there...something that might help them, if she can only figure out what it is.  
  
"I don't think either of us expected for everyone to pick sides as quickly as they did," Clarke muses aloud. She starts to pace across the front of the fireplace without noticing, swirling the small amount of whiskey left in her glass as she walks. "I don't think we expected there to be sides _to_ pick, even, at least not so quickly. That's the nature of politics, I know, but the fact that neither of us saw it coming...choosing sides, creating this divide has to be part of their plan. And my involvement is an essential component. They chose me for a reason. I'm close to you, my people have been a constant point of contention since we arrived, we aren't part of your Coalition...Arkadia is a natural rallying point for those who oppose you, because at the end of the day the best I'm able to offer our allies is my word. In _Azgeda's_ eyes, and the eyes of many, apparently, we could turn on you and the Coalition at any time."

"And if this had not been a pattern of behavior for _Azgeda_ prior to your arrival, it would be easy to think that you are the primary target of their concern," Lexa says. She leans against the arm of one of the chairs, her arms folded over her chest and legs crossed at the ankle. She watches Clarke pace, but makes no move to enter her space in any way. "As it is, I would guess that you are merely a convenient excuse."

"I agree." Clarke's mind feels like it's turning over with thoughts so fast that if Lexa listened hard enough, she might be able to hear it whirring. "But a convenient excuse for what..."

Clarke stops her pacing in front of the paper stuck above the fireplace again and downs the rest of her whiskey. "It's about you, it's always been about you. About getting rid of you. They wouldn't risk war if they could avoid it, even Nia is smarter than that. They were waiting for you to do something they could exploit, and _Skaikru_ provided that. _I_ provided that. The question really is, now that they have their excuse..." Clarke turns back to Lexa and meets her green eyes. They look so tired, exhausted even, but alert. Lexa watches her closely, clearly not quite following until Clarke holds up her glass, an idea finally starting to take shape, "They want you gone. That's it, that's always been it. Short of sneaking into this room in the middle of the night and killing you - which, if that were their plan, they would've done it already. They'd have no need for this game of politics. But how else can they get rid of you? If the only way to eliminate a Commander is her death, then maybe war _is_ their plan."

It starts slow, the dawning look on Lexa's face; it grows as Clarke speaks, until Lexa's eyes are wide, awake, and looking straight through Clarke. "A vote of no confidence," she says quietly.

The spiral of thoughts comes crashing to a halt as Clarke just blinks. "A vote of no...they can _vote you out?"_

"It happens rarely," Lexa answers, her eyes still far away. She blinks twice and they come back, and she focuses again on Clarke as she stands straight. "Two, maybe three times at most. But rather than kill a Commander outright and risk open war, those who are loyal to her can have a vote. If the vote goes against her, the Commander can demand a trial by combat." Her jaw tightens a moment. "Otherwise, she faces execution. A new Conclave is held, and the Flame passes on as it always does."

“You’re chosen by a...by divine right, essentially. But your allies can just _vote_ to get rid of you?” Clarke can hear the incredulity in her voice, but she can’t help it. Somehow, after everything, this just doesn’t compute. “That’s...an interesting element of democracy to have carried over.”

Lexa blinks at her. "Democracy?"

“Never mind,” Clarke waves her left hand dismissively. “I’ll explain it later. So the Coalition, they can just...vote you out?” She glances back at the paper, still stuck and fluttering slightly against the wall. “If that’s the case, and that is _Azgeda’s_ plan...then they’re trying to gather votes.”

"One chieftain," Lexa says, "One vote. It has been used as an alternative to drawing daggers in the throne room. There is little but tradition holding the Commander to recognizing the vote, I suppose, but...ignoring the will of the majority of the chiefs is unlikely to end well for anyone."

“I’m more concerned about how it ends for you than for the rest of them.” Clarke falls back into her chair with a heavy sigh and draws her palm down over her face. “We don’t have enough. They only need one more vote for a tie, two for a majority. And we barely have four. Fuck!” The cup in Clarke’s hand slams against the table in front of her, a huge crack appearing straight up the middle of the glass.

" _Clarke_." 

She looks up, and Lexa steps around the corner of the chair to look at the glass. She's already preparing a response for the lecture she thinks Lexa is about to deliver - _be careful, you'll cut yourself,_ yada yada - but the Commander just looks at her, then bends down to pick up the broken glass in one hand.

"That was part of a set," she says disapprovingly, and turns to return it to the cupboard.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke mumbles, as if Lexa actually had given her a lecture. “May as well just bring the bottle over, why even bother with a glass.”

"Mm." Glass clinks a few times before Lexa returns, carrying the uncorked decanter of whiskey with her. She sets it down in front of Clarke - and then two of the matching glasses. 

"I need you thinking straight," she says, by way of explanation, and then takes the seat beside Clarke.

Clarke runs a hand through her hair and uses the other to pour a finger of whiskey in each glass. Without a word, she slides one over to Lexa.

Two, then three, then four sips later and Clarke still hasn’t come up with a solution. The likelihood of them bringing the remaining three neutral clans over to their side is slim at best, and they’ll need all three for a majority. That is, assuming Blue Cliff and Broadleaf don’t get cold feet... “Wait.” Clarke sits up and feels instantly slightly dizzy. She shakes her head and pushes her glass away even as she says, “I forget how strong that stuff is. But these are the chieftains who vote, right? We represent our people as ambassadors, but it’s our leaders who would vote. Is there something there, something we’re missing about the chiefs from the currently neutral clans?”

"To appeal directly to the chiefs? Side step the ambassadors?" Lexa presses her thumb and forefinger to her eyes for a moment. She sits with one ankle over the other knee, and has been sinking further and further into her chair as the night grows longer. "It would be difficult to get to them without the ambassadors knowing - not when the ambassadors are here, and they are not."

“But what we really need is a definite yes from the chiefs themselves. The ambassadors won’t be voting, they can’t tell us for sure what choice their chiefs will make.” Clarke’s head feels as heavy as Lexa’s looks. She pulls herself forward in her seat, forces herself to sit up straighter. “Which means we can’t know for sure what the answer will be, not without speaking directly to the chiefs or gaining a decisive majority.” She looks at Lexa then and forces the growing sense of helplessness from her mind. It won’t solve this problem, and she refuses to give into it. “This has to be it, right? This has to be what Nia is after, she must be planning to call this vote. And if that’s true, we have to plan accordingly. We have to be ready.”

Clarke can see the moment the thought strikes Lexa. She drops her hand, and her eyes go wide. She stands up. "The First Thaw. That is when she'll do it. It is the only time that she can guarantee enough of the chiefs will be here, without attempting to call them all herself."

“The First Thaw...I assume that’s similar to your First Frost festival?”

Lexa nods, and is already moving. She puts her cup down on the low table and moves around its far corner, bending to rifle through the gathered papers. "I have mentioned it before, some time ago. It tends to be a much smaller affair, as winter does not leave every clan at the same time; rarely do they all bother to send a delegation. But now that word of this has spread..."

"They'll all come." Clarke doesn't stand but sits up even straighter, watching Lexa's movements with new energy. "If we're able to follow Nia's actions to their inevitable conclusion, then they will do the same. And they'll all want their say."

With a book stuffed in the crook of one arm and a pile of papers between her hands, Lexa looks up at Clarke with a spark in her green eyes. "And when they do," she says, "we'll be there to listen."

Their focus now shifted, an entirely new playing field opens up before them. Lexa collects whatever information she has on the clan chiefs and their interactions, and they begin drawing up a complicated map of political intrigue. Who trusts who, who doesn't; who have standing agreements, who have recently been screwed over; who shares common interest, who are at odds. Clarke has found a second - or third or fourth - wind, and it's clear Lexa has too. They have been working well into the night when, upon hastily grabbing up an old report, Lexa knocks a small pile of papers to the ground. As they scatter across the bearskin rug, a single rolled scroll, hardly an inch long and sealed with _Floukru's_ mark, bounces across the top of them.

It takes Clarke a moment before she recognizes it: the letter from Helena that Jada had given her the other day. She'd been so busy, so completely consumed with her discussions with the ambassadors that the note had entirely slipped her mind. In fact, she doesn't even remember leaving it in Lexa's room, but there it is - sealed and unopened.

Clarke picks it up gingerly, as if it were made of glass instead of parchment, and moves back to the seat she had occupied just a few hours ago. "It's from Helena," Clarke says, even as her thumbnail pops the seal open. "Jada gave it to me a few days ago, I forgot all about it."

"Helena sent it to you?" Lexa stops what she's doing immediately. Certainly it's the first missive Clarke has had directly from a chieftain, and it's clear the Commander is curious. Shortly thereafter however, she realizes the circumstances that must surround the letter, and she sobers. "Would you like some privacy? We should turn in soon, anyway..."

"No, I don't mind." Clarke looks up to find Lexa's green eyes studying her, and smiles reassuringly. "Here, come sit with me," and she moves over to the couch. "I never mind your company. Besides, I'm tired and you're my preferred pillow."

Lexa nods. She pours one last dram of whiskey for her and for Clarke - not that either of them need it, really - and settles on the other side of the couch. She holds her arms back so Clarke can lay her head in her lap, and then offers her one of the glasses without a word.

Clarke takes it gratefully and uses her opposite hand to unfurl the scroll with her thumb. It's a little slow, but the letter is small enough that she can keep the majority of it open enough to read with one hand.

 _When I left,_ it opens, _I told you to stay alive. And you did._

_I'm proud of you, Clarke._

Clarke gulps a little, and she can feel Lexa's fingers brush across her forehead.

_I can't say that I was surprised when I heard that they came for you; this world tends to hate beautiful things, and good hearts are not exempt. I was even less surprised then, when I found out that you stared the world down and told it to get lost. After all, you had good reasons to stay alive - better reasons than a lot of us have._

_I know recovery won't be easy. And I'm sure you-know-who isn't making it any easier; even the way she writes her letters radiate mopiness. But don't let her get in your head - or stay too long in hers, for that matter. If she starts getting to be too much, just give her a riddle, or a really good puzzle, or some dumb thing to keep her busy. Just stay sane for a weeks, and I'll take her off your hands._

_Until then - stay alive._

Clarke reads it twice before tipping it back toward Lexa, indicating that she can take it and read it as well. Lexa takes it from her hands gently, almost as if she's nervous to read it, and is silent for a time. Clarke assumes she's reading and sips quietly on her whiskey before, eventually, softly, saying, "I should've guessed you'd like puzzles."

Lexa scoffs and lowers her hand, it and the letter coming to rest on Clarke's stomach. "She's irritating."

"She's family," Clarke chuckles. "All family members are irritating."

"It's like she expected me to read it," Lexa says, and lifts her cup to drink. Just as it touches her lips, however, she pauses to mutter, "Distract me with puzzles," before she tosses it back.

"I'm glad she wrote to me," Clarke thinks aloud, ignoring Lexa's whining. "I wondered...I don't know, I hoped she didn't feel uncomfortable, writing to me after that. For whatever reason. But Jada said that Helena insisted she hand it to me directly, lest it get into other hands. I can see why now. Wouldn't want the other ambassadors thinking your grumpiness can be solved with riddles."

"They would never fear me again," Lexa says around the lip of her glass, and takes another sip. Clarke can feel her tighten just a little in response to the burn of the alcohol, and then she sets the glass down on the arm of the couch. Her free hand scratches lightly at the space below Clarke's collarbone. "How do you feel?"

"Tired," Clarke sighs. She nuzzles farther into Lexa's arm and closes her eyes, even as she says, "And scared. A little guilty, maybe, and definitely still angry. But mostly I feel happy to be here. That even after all that, all of this, that I still have you."

"And Helena, apparently," Lexa says, though her tone suggests that this isn't much of a surprise. "I will write to her, now that we know what we need to do. If anyone can help rally the chiefs to our cause, it will be her."

“Don’t be jealous,” Clarke teases and swats at Lexa’s arm playfully, not even bothering to open her eyes. “You’re right, you should let her know. And Indra. Whatever her feelings are about Arkadia these days, she will support you.”

"I'm not _jealous,"_ Lexa answers, with a hint of jealousy in her voice. She falls quiet for a moment, then Clarke feels a light tug on her chest from the arm draped across it. She opens her eyes to find Lexa tipped a little to the side, the better to be able to see her face fully.

"This was my decision to make," she says seriously, her eyes earnest. "And I do not regret it. The guilt was never yours - not then, and not now. Especially not now that you are helping me to solve it."

“I know,” is Clarke’s easy answer, but it loosens something in her chest to hear Lexa say so. A weight she’s been ignoring, but feels lighter now. “It may not be my fault, but now that we’re here it’s hard not to draw the lines back to decisions we’ve made. They seem so obvious now. But we could never have controlled _Azgeda_. They would’ve found a way, using me or not. Now I can help you, and if you think for one second that I will ever let those assholes hurt you...” Clarke trails off, a growl barely contained in her chest. “We’ll fix it. Somehow.”

Lexa nudges her to sit up. When she does, turning to face the Commander, Lexa cups her jaw with one hand; with a fond grin on her lips, she leans in to kiss her.

" _Ai Shilopa,_ " she hums. _My protector_.

"Someone has to be," Clarke mutters. Her voice is serious, but softened by the way Lexa kisses her.

With their new plan in place, they begin to set it in motion. Lexa writes to Helena to update her on their suspicions regarding _Azgeda,_ and her reply assures them of her help in rallying the chiefs. She writes to Indra as well, though in vaguer terms; they both decide it's best to keep their cards close to the chest regarding the possible vote, and so the overture to Indra focuses on _Azgeda's_ presence at the border. While Indra's reply is a bit less enthusiastic - there is some hesitance, it seems, even in _Trikru,_ to throw their weight fully to one side or the other - she agrees to support the Commander. There is little question that this is an act of self-preservation; Indra's scouts return with evidence that the _Azgedan_ encampment had crossed the border, a threat that Cole and his ilk are quick to disavow as a mistake, and not an invasion. In his wording, Clarke hears the unmistakable influence of Eustace, and her frustration at this uphill climb grows. But their struggles are not for nothing.

"So that's two more," Jada says, as they convene after dinner one evening with Leif and Titus. She pushes a new list of clans forward, this one with four names under Lexa's banner. " _Boudalankru_ continues to be unswayed, but I think we've secured Blue Cliff and Broadleaf's support."

Clarke sighs, an air of frustration about her that she hasn't been able to shake in the last few days. They've been talking with the ambassadors for nearly two weeks, attempting to gain their support without revealing exactly why they need it, and the effort is starting to take a toll on Clarke's mental health. She's hardly left the tower in that time, let alone been to the clinic, and the number of times she's trained with Kita equals the number of times she's skipped it. 'Grumpy' would be a generous word to describe her mood.

"It's not enough." Clarke's boots are propped up on the table in front of her and still she wriggles in her chair, not quite able to get comfortable. "We need at least six. More than six, actually. What about Rock Line? Has anyone gotten any further with them? Or _Podakru?_ I know we were hoping not to pull too many strings, but we can't go into this with only four confirmed votes."

"Lake Clan has thrown in with _Azgeda,_ " Titus says simply, looking over Jada's list.

"Leaving us tied," Lexa says with a sigh. She stands at the opposite corner of the table, one hip leaning against its side while she reads a report in her hand. "Four votes to four votes."

"Delphi, Rock Line, Plains, and Desert clans aren't budging," Leif says from his seat across from Clarke. He sits with elbows on the table, his shoulders slumped low. "I've been working with Rock Line to try and persuade them with a trade deal, but. _Skaikru_ has them feeling skittish."

"They have to budge." Clarke's boots smack against the ground as she pulls them from the table. "If it comes to a vote, they'll have to choose. Neutrality won't be an option. How can we be sure that at least three come down on our side, when the time comes?"

"And sooner rather than later," Lexa mutters. "Warm weather will be upon us soon, and with it the First Thaw."

Titus shakes his head. "They are all waiting for something - something to indicate what direction the scales will tip in, who ultimately has the stronger position. I do not know that offering them trade deals will sway them; we have to show them that we will be the victor in this."

Clarke leans forward on the table and runs a hand through her hair. Frustration radiates from her, but she's not the only one - the entire room feels tense and, even worse, a little defeated. "I don't know what else we can do," she mutters, almost to herself as much to anyone else. "I only have so much sway, even with the ambassadors. The last few conversations I've had have all ended with them reminding me that _Skaikru_ isn't a part of the Coalition, and they're right. I think if I push them anymore, I'll do more harm than good."

"On that note..." Jada says haltingly, "I do not have a guaranteed way to get the other four to join us, but there is one way to tip the scales."

Immediately, every eye is on her. A few seconds of silence pass, as Jada eyes Titus uncertainly. Then she says, "We invite _Skaikru_ into the Coalition."

Titus hardly allows her to finish. "Absolutely not."

Clarke's eyebrows furrow as she processes that idea. "Could we do that? Is that even a possibility?"

"Theoretically," Lexa says. Clarke can practically see the gears turning behind her eyes as she stares blankly at the table. "They would have to sign the treaty, and agree to abide by our laws - which will be a difficult negotiation, I have no doubt. But a thirteenth clan would break the tie."

"Assuming the other four don't side with _Azgeda_ before then," Jada points out. "We could invite them to the First Thaw, hash out the details in person. Helena has offered to sponsor them."

"You cannot seriously be considering this, Commander." Titus's surprise and disapproval is unmitigated in his voice. " _Skaikru_ sits at the heart of why the clans distrust you - bringing them in would be madness!"

"It would prove that she truly wants to promote peace." The volume of Clarke's voice easily rises to match Titus. "It would prove that she means what she says, and it would give us a chance to show the others that we mean them no harm. If we are beholden to the same laws, the arguments of _Azgeda_ and their allies all but disappear. In a way, it would protect all of us. And if it makes the difference between you continuing as Commander or dying," Clarke looks up at Lexa, not even bothering to mask the distress that idea causes her, "then why not?"

"Because if it fails," the Flamekeeper grinds out, "we will be at worse than square one."

"They will have to agree to the same terms as the others," Lexa says, at once agreeing with him and ignoring him. She looks at Clarke. "Trade terms and land usage can be negotiated, but there can be no special concessions made in terms of autonomy. They will have to be subject to the Coalition, just as the other clans are; anything less will be seen as preferential. Do you think your people will agree to that?"

“It will be a long conversation...” every issue her mother will bring up crashes into Clarke’s mind at once, “but I think they’ll agree to it. This is our home now and we have to live with the people here. They know that. I think it might work.”

"And if they decide their autonomy is worth more to them - what then?" Titus asks imperiously. He folds his arms into his robe and eyes Clarke. "They are not like us, Commander, much as we would like to forget that. The Coalition was difficult enough for us, who share a common culture and history, to cede our governance and independence. Why would they agree to do that, when they are technologically - and in their eyes, certainly, culturally - superior?"

It's likely that Clarke wouldn't be able to stop her eyes from rolling, but she certainly makes no attempt to do so now. "What exactly is this argument, Titus? Are you saying because we have superior weapons and different ideas we shouldn't join the Coalition? You'd prefer we continue to operate autonomously, without any checks or treaties preventing us from doing what we like?"

Already over giving Titus even this much attention, Clarke turns her gaze to Lexa. "If it works, it could solve nearly all the problems Arkadia's existence created. We can share our knowledge and technology with the other clans, and in return can expect support and resources from the Coalition when we need it, just as the other clans do. All of this is happening anyway, just with no official treaty."

"And if the Sky People become our people, the other clans cannot complain that they are receiving undue aid," Lexa says. There's a small smile on her lips as she looks at Clarke, and nods. "Let us begin drafting proposals. We'll make no official moves until we have determined that _Skaikru_ may accept one we are happy with."

They set to brainstorming ways to approach Arkadia's leadership with the idea, Clarke scribbling down every concern she can think of that her mom might throw at her - and even a few that she probably won't, just in case. They strategize ways to answer them that don't put any extra stress on the rest of the Coalition, but it quickly becomes clear that this is no easy task. They have a number of possible suggestions in their back pocket when Clarke first floats the idea a few days later, via Raven's communicator.

The communicator allows Clarke little leeway in word choice and by the same token, it's difficult to ascertain whether her mother is receptive to the idea. Abby communicates that she is at least open to it, and agrees that the help they've received from Lexa this winter has been essential and would be more than nice to rely on in the future. Clarke can tell that she's hesitant - even in her short responses, she can practically see her mother turning over this idea in her mind, a stern but thoughtful look on her face. But the conversation ends with Abby agreeing to bring the idea to the other leaders of _Skaikru,_ and she promises to give Clarke an update in the next several days.

It's all Clarke could have hoped for, and in a way it's more - she truly wasn't positive what her mother's reaction would be, and the fact that she's receptive means that at least they are thinking along similar lines. But still she's nervous, and she can tell that Lexa is too when she relays the specifics of the conversation.

Even more frustrating, now they will have to wait for a reply. In the meantime, they still need at least two votes guaranteed for Lexa and Clarke isn't about to sit on her hands while she has immediate access to the ambassadors of the so far undecided clans. She does her best not to badger them, but between meeting with them casually and playing interference to avoid _Azgeda's_ allies swaying them to their side, it still feels like a full time job. 

Still, she finds time to train with Kita most mornings. Both her fingers and Ronnie's arm are healing well. At this point she's able to take the stints off, but Carlisle insists that she avoid using her hand, at least while training, for another couple of weeks. Kita takes advantage of the opportunity to pressure Clarke into training more with a sword. It doesn't come very naturally, but as the days progress she at least can say that she's improved. More than anything, training feels like a respite from the stress that plagues every other moment of her day. Seeing Kita waiting for her with two wooden swords and Ronnie's smile as she walks into the training room every morning is not a small part of how she's able to keep her sanity.

Working at the clinic is nearly impossible during the day at this point, but Clarke spends some nights there now. Despite the often high pressure responsibilities, helping Carlisle is yet another way to de-stress. And, in a way, it helps her feel recharged. Spending time with people constantly throughout the day makes her skin crawl more often than not. On more than one occasion she's had to leave in the middle of a meeting as anger and frustration twist into something scarily close to a panic attack. Working at the clinic reassures Clarke that she's capable and confident - and that whatever she's been through, she can still help people.

Clarke is on her way to the clinic one evening - nearly five days after the communication with her mother and still no response - when she swings down the corridor to Lexa's room to say goodnight. Lexa understands that Clarke needs space and how much she enjoys working at the clinic, but Clarke can tell that she dislikes the nights when she's gone. If Clarke had her way, she'd be at the clinic during the day instead of talking in circles for hours on end, and spend every night with Lexa. But when was the last time she got her way?

She almost never bothers to knock, always just waltzes right in - but today as she goes to push the door open, she pauses at the sound of raised voices. Immediately Clarke recognizes Lexa's voice, followed by the familiar sound of a displeased Titus.

"I will not hear this again."

"Yes you will!" The words sound like they're forced out between Titus' teeth, and play over the sound of familiar footsteps crossing the floor. Clarke's fingers twitch towards the doorknob in the beat of silence that follows, but then Titus continues in a calmer voice: "Please. In this time of uncertainty, I beg you to remember my teachings. Love--"

"Is weakness." Lexa finishes the phrase for him, and hearing the words in her voice leaves an unexpectedly sharp pang in Clarke's chest. There is some solace to be found in Lexa's tone, however; though the words carry the familiarity of an oft-repeated adage, Clarke would recognize that underlying impatience anywhere. 

"To be Commander is _to be_ alone," Titus confirms, and his voice is almost gentle - placating, even. "You know our history, and the danger that entanglements have posed to the Commanders of the past--"

"Of _my_ past," Lexa cuts in again, and her tone is sharp. "I carry the Flame and with it all of my past selves; I hear their warnings every night in my sleep. If you believe there is some lesson to be gained from those lives that I do not already know, then you forget yourself, _Fleimkepa_."

"Forgive me, Lexa." It's the first time Clarke has ever heard him use the Commander's name in speaking to her. It is strange to her ears, but without being able to see Lexa's face she has no idea of the effect it has on her. "I do not mean to offend you, but I worry that you do not recognize the dire situation that you find yourself in. You have risked injury, death, and worse in the name of building this Coalition, so that peace may come to the people that we serve; I know that being in a precarious position in its name is not foreign to you. But that peace stands on the brink of shattering. One wrong step, and the entirety of what you have dedicated your life to building will be gone, and you will be lucky if it does not take you with it."

"What would you have me do, Titus?"

"Send her away." There is not a moment's hesitation in his answer, his words running over the end of Lexa's question in their rush to get out. There's little question in Clarke's mind of which _her_ he means. "We do not need to make an enemy of the Sky People, but we do need to create space between us and them. Close down the Mountain, reduce your ties to Arkadia, and hold them at arm's length. Take the time to focus wholly on your concerns, and the concerns of your people, and attend to hers only after you have shored up your support."

"You wish me to cut ties with one of the few certain allies I have?" Lexa's voice sounds incredulous. " _S_ _kaikru_ knows that they owe their success this winter to me, and have been willing to work with the Coalition - which is more than I can say about _Azgeda_. And Clarke is a skilled tactician and ambassador. Her influence--"

"Has blinded you, Lexa!" Titus' words are strained in some kind of mixture of frustration and pleading. "You were lured into attacking an allied member of your Coalition in her name, and now you are risking further dissolution by choosing to keep her here with you. Your feelings for Clarke are putting you both in danger. Send her away, please. Do not make her pay the price for your mistakes, as Costia did."

Silence. Clarke's breath catches in her chest, and her ears strain to hear anything from the other side. She can only imagine the pain that having Costia thrown in her face like that would cause Lexa, and it ignites a righteous fury that urges her to throw the door open and confront Titus herself. He was Lexa's teacher, her caretaker; he was there for all of this, and yet he has the _gall_...

Lexa's voice is quiet. "My mistakes?" she repeats. Clarke can hear her take a few steps, and as she continues the calm before the storm abates; her voice rises to a shattering level that she has never heard before, the force of it making her recoil from the door. " _Azgeda_ cut off Costia's head, and delivered it _to my bed._ And still, I let them into my alliance! I am more than capable of separating _feelings_ from _duty!"_

The room goes still again, and still Clarke holds her breath. After several seconds, Titus makes a failed attempt to break the silence: "Lexa, I--"

"You would have me send her away," she overrides him, her volume back to normal but no less angry than before, "because you say you fear that she has undue influence over me. But from what I can see, your fear is that she has more influence than _you_. Remove Clarke from the city, and then who shall I be swayed by? You? Do I not make my own decisions in my own Coalition? Am I merely a puppet for you to direct as you see fit?"

"Forgive me, Commander, I--"

"No." Lexa's voice is hard. "I knew what I was doing when I chose to attack _Azgeda's_ camp. I knew what it would cost me, and the position it would leave us in. I did it anyway, because it was worth it. Because it was _right_." There is a pause, and with the way that last word wavered, Clarke can picture Lexa drawing in a steadying breath. "If I end up paying for that decision with my life, then so be it. I have been prepared for that since you first brought me to this city. But I will not let _Azgeda_ take the things I care for from me before then. I will not let them win."

"Think about what you're saying, Commander," Titus says, and now his voice wobbles too. "You - you have more potential in this life than in any of the others that I have seen. You have done the impossible, maneuvering all twelve clans into a single pact in less than a decade. Think of what you could accomplish in another! You are brilliant, and powerful, and wise beyond your years, and you are willing to...to throw that all away?"

"I assure you, Titus, I do not intend to throw _anything_ away." Despite it all, there is an unmistakable trace of fondness in Lexa's words. It's weak, and buried beneath layers of anger, but it is there. "You speak as though I wish to lose, as though I already plan on doing so, and that is certainly not the case. You mean well. I know you do. But I will not send Clarke away. We will figure this out. All of us."

More silence. Clarke can’t justify eavesdropping any longer, nor is she able to stop herself from interrupting. The smart thing may be to wait fifteen or twenty seconds before walking in, to preserve the mystery of whether she’d overheard or not - but Clarke has no interest in Titus being in any way unsure whether she’d heard him. So after a few long moments of silence, Clarke pushes the door open forcefully and strides into the room.

Both occupants turn in surprise. Lexa stands before the fire, and at the interruption automatically clasps her hands behind her back, her shoulders straightening and chin held high. She turns to face the door with anger on her face, but upon seeing Clarke those hard lines soften. 

"Clarke," she says, by way of greeting.

Titus is much closer to her, standing on this side of the low table and at the edge of the sitting area. He folds his hands into the sleeves of his robes when he sees her, his expression going stoney. " _Wanheda_."

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting,” Clarke ignores Titus for the moment, instead focusing on quickly assessing Lexa’s posture and expression. She looks angry, yes - stiff, frustrated. Her expression is far more Commander than Lexa. But even so, she doesn’t look too worse for wear. Any more information Clarke will have to investigate further later, but she’s satisfied enough to turn her attention back to Titus. 

“I thought I heard my name before coming in. Is there something I should know?”

"Nothing as of yet," he is quick to answer - but it's clear from the look in his eyes that he gets the message. He turns to Lexa and inclines his head. "I will not keep you, Commander. Rest well."

Lexa doesn't answer him, and Clarke doesn't try to stop him. Without another word he exits the room and closes the door behind him, leaving the two women standing across from each other. Lexa looks at her.

"How much of that did you hear?"

"It sounded like the end," Clarke feels the muscles in her shoulder relax as the door clicks shut behind Titus, "though for your sake I'm hoping it was the entirety of it."

"I doubt that it will be," Lexa sighs. Her shoulders relax as well, but her hands remain behind her back. "But one can indeed hope. Can I help you with something?"

"Oh, well, I was planning to spend the evening at the clinic," Clarke vaguely gestures at herself and the familiar, navy blue healer's uniform she has on. "Hoping Carlisle will finally stop looking over my shoulder while I'm working with both hands. I assume - or hope, I guess is more accurate - that you won't be awake when I get back. So I just wanted to say goodnight."

"Oh." Lexa's eyebrows go up briefly - though Clarke gets the sense that the surprise they convey is directed inwardly, rather than at her. Whatever semblance of the Commander persisted until then drops away, her hands falling back to her sides as she comes around the table towards Clarke. "Of course. I apologize if...this," she gestures vaguely at the place Titus was just standing, "has made you late."

"Not at all. It's been quiet there lately anyway, I think he would send me home most nights if he didn't know that I need the practice." Clarke wiggles the fingers on her left hand without thinking. When she realizes what she's doing, she instead reaches out with the same hand and wraps it around one of Lexa's. "Are you alright?"

"I..." Clarke can see the moment when Lexa realizes what she's doing, when she sets aside the automatic answer to that question to find the real one. Lexa has always been careful to tell her the truth, even in these matters - a redoubled attempt at being honest with Clarke after the incidents that plagued the first half of winter. It's a tendency that Clarke is generally appreciative of, though it has made some things difficult recently. "I will be," she says ultimately, and gives Clarke's fingers a squeeze. She lifts her hand to her lips and presses a soft kiss against the healing knuckles. "But I worry about you. Are you certain you have been getting enough sleep?"

Somehow, even after however many hundreds of times Lexa has kissed her, that simple touch still makes Clarke's heart leap up into her throat. "I'm certain that I haven't." She sits down on the arm of the chair closest to her and pulls Lexa gently around to stand in front of her. "I'm also certain that you haven't, either. I just know I'd be awake either way, worrying or planning or whatever else. At least this way I can be useful, and do something I enjoy instead of thinking myself into nightmares or a panic attack." 

Clarke clenches her jaw as those last words slip out, instantly aware that that particular piece of information will do the opposite of assuage Lexa's worry. It hasn't happened often, and never when Lexa has been around - at least, not the panic attacks. Nightmares plague one or both of them more often than not lately. "I'm fine," Clarke is quick to reassure her, "I promise. Carlisle wouldn't let me work if I were too tired anyway."

"That would be irresponsible of him. Can't have an exhausted healer be the reason his treatments fail to work," Lexa says, and offers a small smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. She's been better about controlling her worrying, at least, though Clarke can tell that it grates on her. Having all the power in the world and yet being unable to put a loved one's mind at ease is not an easy thing to accept. She's intimately familiar with the feeling. "But if it is what you need, then I will not question it. As long as I can count on you to still be at your best."

"Of course you can. I have a very good reason to be at my best." Clarke tugs a little on Lexa's arm, very clearly indicating that she'd like her to bend down into kissing distance.

Lexa's smile quickly does reach her eyes then, and she pushes her hair over one shoulder to acquiesce. 

When Clarke arrives at the clinic later that evening, it's just in time for the nightshift to start. She isn't given much time to ruminate on the argument she'd overheard, as an accident further out in the city meant that there is plenty of urgent work to be done; she gives herself over to it, and by the time she returns to Lexa's room, she is tired enough to drop immediately into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pay no attention to the Totally Borrowed From S3 Plot Hook behind the curtain.


	15. Hi, Mom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Alcohol

They at last hear back from Arkadia the following morning, and Clarke quickly finds her chest swelling with the warmth of the good news: _Skaikru_ is open to negotiations. It's the first positive break they've had in days, and they allow themselves a moment of relief before Lexa begins drafting a formal invitation to the First Thaw festivities with Jada. A copy is sent to Helena, who returns it with a signature and a seal to verify that _Floukru_ is willing to sponsor the Sky People's delegation. A final raven is then sent to _Skaikru,_ who promptly accepts.

Clarke permits only a small part of her to think about reuniting with her people, with her family and friends; with _Skaikru_ officially coming to Polis, a detailed plan needs to be worked out, complete with formal proposals and terms that either party might be willing to accept. This results in a few evenings' worth of arguments between her and Lexa, as even united in their mission their sides have their differences. It's on the afternoon following one such evening that Clarke marches into Lexa's room, having spent the morning stewing on the argument of the night before and ready to deliver a fresh bout of complaints, that she finds the Commander standing in front of one of the windows with her hands clasped behind her back, backlit by brilliant sunshine.

"Look," she says as Clarke comes in. She turns to face her and points upwards and out, and for a moment Clarke's eyes wander to the city below. But then movement catches the corner of her eye, and she refocuses her gaze on the top of the window...where water is dripping at a robust pace down the pane. Lexa gives her a bright smile. "The snow is melting."

And as if they did not already have enough on their plate, with the first signs of a thaw it is time to make plans for the celebration of spring. As the weather continues to warm and the days grow longer, the Nightbloods begin training outside once more. It's certainly still cold; even on the days that the snow - which has been a perpetual presence since Midsummer - does melt, it refreezes once the sun disappears. But the threat of a big storm and deadly temperatures has receded, and the training pitch at the foot of the tower is once more usable. On the first day that they go outside, Ronnie spends a full minute just running in the fresh air, only to then crash into Clarke in a wallop of a hug. He laughs, exuberant in the sunshine, and in full command of both his arms again. 

He and Kita become joint trainers for Clarke, who is glad to have at least one aspect of her life at the tower return to normal. The chaotic flurry of activity that grips the tower's inhabitants now is apparently only new to her, a side effect of her having lived here during the quietest time of the year. With the coming of spring the political world returns, with all its dangers and its frustrations - and she knows that her easy days with Lexa are officially a thing of the past. They're carried on the wings of the ravens that bring the invitations to the First Thaw out to the twelve chiefs, and to _Skaikru_.

As the day of the First Thaw celebration approaches, the chiefs send word of when to expect them. Helena is, of course, the first to make an appearance; just as she does for First Fall, she intends to spend extra time in Polis with Lexa, and as such takes extra care to arrive early. The fanfare Clarke witnessed when she first arrived four months ago is repeated but now, instead of skulking in the shadows with a hood over her head, she stands behind Lexa with the other ambassadors, head held high. She does her best to remain formal in front of the others, but as soon as they are on the lift with Lexa and Jada, Helena grabs Clarke in a bone-crushing hug.

"I'm so happy to see you," she gushes into Clarke's ear, her cheek crushed up against hers.

"I'm happy to see you too!" Clarke laughs and hugs her back just as hard. "I promised to stay alive, so here I am. This one too," and she points to Lexa who appears as pleased to see Helena as her stoic, Commander expression will allow.

"And this one too," Helena repeats, and her smile softens as she turns to Lexa. She pulls the Commander - who only resists a little - into a milder but no less tight hug. "Thank you both for still being here."

"I would hate to disappoint you," Lexa answers, and Clarke catches the small smile she wears in return.

"And disappoint you would! Who would I be without you people to annoy?" Helena pulls back then, and reaches into her bag to reveal a bottle that is most definitely filled with some kind of alcohol. "Now, I understand we have some planning to do?"

Lexa rolls her eyes in the exact time it takes Clarke to grin, which incites a chuckle from both Helena and Jada.

The next few days are just as filled with political discussion as the last few weeks have been, but this time it's also filled with occasional laughter and quiet. Helena gets to work immediately, splitting her time equally between chatting with ambassadors and the chiefs as they arrive, and strategizing with Lexa and Clarke. During the latter conversations is one of the few times Clarke and Lexa are free to interact with each other as they normally would while alone: a fact that Helena is quick to tease them for at least a dozen times a day. Lexa seems more annoyed than entertained, but Clarke doesn't mind - it's comforting to finally have a friend around, particularly one who knows about her and Lexa's relationship.

After one such bout of banter is interrupted by Titus arriving to summon the Commander away, she and Helena are left alone for the first time in a completely safe location. The _Floukru_ chieftain sits curled up in one of the chairs opposite Clarke, her bare feet tucked under her and a deep scarlet skirt tucked against her shins. With dark curls spilling off to one side of her head, she leans one elbow on the chair arm, chin on her knuckles, and looks at Clarke. Her brow arches over eyes sparkling with amusement as painted lips pull back into a suggestive smile.

"So that," she says, and waggles her fingers in the direction Lexa had exited, "seems to be going well."

Clarke rolls her eyes, but there's a similar smile on her face. She'd just been forced to sit up from her prone position on the couch after using Lexa's thigh as a pillow, and takes the opportunity to pour a glass of whiskey for herself and Helena.

"As well as it can be," Clarke says as she hands the glass over the table, "given the circumstances. But for a while there, it was...more than good."

"That's a pretty drastic difference from 'not at all' - which was the last I heard from you on the subject." Helena shifts forward to take the offered glass. She holds it out until Clarke taps her own glass against it, then sits back to drink.

"It was a bit of an uphill struggle." The memory of those first couple weeks - the severity of the highs and lows - makes Clarke's stomach jump. She never thought they'd have a beginning at all, let alone one that she'd be able to remember fondly. Well, _mostly_ fondly. "But we got there, and now it's...I don't know, when everything else isn't getting in the way and people aren't trying to kill us, it's perfect."

"I imagine having powerful enemies out to get you isn't the most romantically invigorating thing," Helena says with a chuckle. "Did she get you anything for Midwinter?"

"Yes..." Clarke can feel heat rise to her cheeks as she nods over her shoulder. They are, predictably, sitting in Lexa's room and Clarke's paints and current project are conspicuously spread out over the small table next to the huge windows. "I told her I would move the paints if she wanted use of her table back, but she insists on letting me keep them there. I still feel bad that I didn't get her anything."

Helena twists in her chair to see the paint set over the back of her chair, but the last of Clarke's comments brings her attention spinning back around. "You didn't get her..." she waggles her eyebrows at Clarke, " _a_ _nything?"_

"I painted something for her, but if you're asking about the extent of it...I might've found other ways to show my gratitude."

"Well, no wonder she's so much more tolerable these days; I've been telling her she needs to get laid for years, but she never listened to me." Helena grins like a cat as she settles back into her chair. "I'm sure that gift was good practice for when you inevitably ask me to sit for a portrait."

"I would love to. This time with color, imagine that." Clarke's grin fades a bit, reality creeping in at the edges of this train of thought. That's another thing that she's been struggling with lately - thinking too much about the future. "I can't believe I finally have her, and now I'm thinking every day about how to ensure she isn't executed by her own people."

"She won't be," Helena says. The words are easy enough - as most of Helena's words are - but there's something off in her tone. Like the easy, breezy optimism in her banter from a moment ago is now a little more artificial, a little more forced. Her eyes move to the fire as she continues, "She's been in worse positions than this before, you know - at least no one's sending actual assassins after her yet. Plus, this time she has you. And me. Worst case scenario, we knock her out, drag her to _Floukru,_ and put her on a boat. No one will ever find her."

"I have a hard time imagining her not just rushing back here, but I do like the idea of that." Clarke sighs and flops sideways onto the couch, settling for an armchair pillow in Lexa's absence. "Even better if we could all go together," she says, more to the ceiling than directly to Helena. "Just disappear from all this."

"We have the advantage right now - what with the two of us being alone in here." Helena grins at her from around her glass. "She won't suspect a thing when she gets back. You distract her, I'll hit her over the head, and we'll be gone before anyone knows what's happened."

Clarke chuckles and turns to face Helena. "It might be harder than you think. Besides, as a healer I think I'm obligated to avoid giving my girlfriend a concussion."

Helena lowers her cup and blows a raspberry. "The two of you, honestly," she mutters dramatically. "Always ruining my fun."

Over the next week, most of the chiefs arrive. Only the outlying clans who have farther to travel haven't arrived yet, but both Lexa and Helena seem confident that they will - word will have spread and similar conclusions drawn, and none of the chieftains will want to miss the opportunity to have their say.

There's no respite to be had. Clarke spends almost the entirety of her day meeting with the chieftains, attempting to negotiate on her and Lexa's behalf. They've agreed not to explicitly reveal _Skaikru's_ potential entrance into the Coalition but there are ways to discuss something without explicitly talking about it. In fact, politicians excel at it.

Clarke specifically instructed her mother not to arrive until a few days before the festival, but time seems to fly by. Before she knows it, Elena is knocking on Lexa's door and informing them that _Skaikru_ has been spotted on the outskirts of the forest.

Where Jada stood for Helena's arrival, and Leif stood for Indra's arrival, and Eustace's for Tumnas' and Waverly for Wyatt's, Clarke now stands beside Lexa to welcome her people to Polis. The sky is grey and cold today, so that even as wet, crushed grass pokes up between patches of half-melted snow in the courtyard before them, Clarke wears a heavy blue cloak over her jacket. It's the only thing of Grounder make that she wears that morning, the rest of her outfit comprised of the pieces Bellamy had brought with him all those months ago. To her right, Lexa stands with her hand on the hilt of the sword sheathed at her hip, her crimson cape spilling from her pauldron over the thick black fabric of her coat. Her helm of awe flashes in the light as she turns to look at Clarke, but her face is clear of warpaint.

"Are you ready?" she asks Clarke, her voice quiet so as not to be overheard by the ambassadors and chiefs gathered behind them, or the honor guard and crowd gathered before. After a moment, her green eyes flash with a smile that she barely allows to appear on her lips. "Our victory is at hand."

Clarke's smile is a little more conspicuous, but not much. "Let's hope so." But even as the words leave her mouth, her heart feels heavy. "Hope" is every bit the right word.

They're able to hear _Skaikru's_ approach before they see them. Unlike last time, the guards have apparently permitted a few of Raven's buggies into the city - though at severely reduced speed. Three of them cruise to a stop in front of the tower with a dozen or so Arkadia soldiers walking behind them. Clarke recognizes most of them, and knows without having to see any evidence that they all wear firearms.

As the buggies come to a halt, the riders and passengers hop out with differing amounts of grace. Bellamy and Octavia jump out of the one to the left, the former with a serious look on his face as he immediately moves to the side of the center buggy. Raven drops from the buggy to the right as Kane and Abby appear from the one in the center.

The final two look uncertain of what to do, now that they're here; Kane can't stop looking up at the tower above them or the walls behind them, while Abby nervously eyes the Polis guards that flank them. But Bellamy, Octavia, and Raven have done this before, and as all three move to the space in front of the middle buggy to stand before the steps, the two leaders follow suit. Bellamy in particular turns to motion for them to take up a position in front of him, and as she steps forward Abby's eyes finally land on Clarke. The reaction is immediate - no sooner does Abby recognize her daughter than her hand flies up to her mouth to cover a choke, and Clarke can tell that she's on the verge of tears even from here.

Clarke feels an immediate, powerful tug in the pit of her stomach, one that directs her to jump down the stairs in front of her and rush into her mother's arms. But she grits her teeth against the impulse and manages to remain rooted to the spot as Lexa begins speaking.

" _Monin, Skaikru!"_ she calls out. Unlike on previous arrivals, the crowd gathered around the new delegation does not quiet after their procession has ended. Eager faces crowd at the wall's gate, peering in wonder and fear at the massive machines that have brought these strangers into their city. Lexa must use the full volume of her voice to be heard, and it is only once she does that the murmuring begins to lower. She waits until it ceases entirely, and by then Abby has managed to pull her eyes from Clarke. The pin that marks her as Chancellor shines on the lapel of her jacket.

"Or should I say," Lexa continues, and though she does not smile, her voice is warm. "Welcome. _Kongeda,_ our Coalition, is honored to have you as guests at this year's First Thaw celebration. Who do I have the honor of addressing?"

It takes Abby a moment - Clarke notices a not so subtle _bonk_ of Kane's hand against the back of hers to get her moving - but she steps forward. Clearing her throat, and with one last glance at Clarke, she lifts her voice to answer. "I am Abigail Griffin, elected chancellor of the Sky People and the leader of Arkadia's city council. I come to represent our people, and we are grateful for the opportunity to speak with you, Commander, in your grand city."

Clarke can't help a little grin from turning her lips. She'd given a few pointers, such that she could, via the communicator beforehand, and Abby had taken them to heart.

"Then welcome, _Abigail kom Skaikru._ " Lexa steps slightly to one side, opening the pathway into the tower for the delegation, and completing the symbolic greeting. "May we dine as friends."

Clarke only has so much self control. As Lexa stands aside and the instant those last words leave her mouth, Clarke leaps forward into her mother's arms and holds her in a hug that would rival Helena's in its intensity. "Hi, Mom," she whispers against Abby's ear.

Abby's arms close immediately and impossibly tightly around Clarke in turn, one hand gripped around the back of Clarke's head. "Clarke," Abby gasps, and Clarke can hear the tears in her voice a moment before she feels them drop against her own cheek. When Abby pulls back a moment later, it is only to cup Clarke's face between her hands, and then she can see the tears as well. They stream from Abby's eyes as she smiles a smile that takes up the whole of her face. "My baby girl," she breathes - and just as quickly, her smile is tempered by concern. "Are you alright? Have you been healing? Have they been feeding you?"

Clarke chuckles and realizes as she does that tears are falling down her cheeks as well. "Yes, I'm fine. Carlisle, one of the healers here, took very good care of me. As did Lex..." she clears her throat and cuts herself off, suddenly very aware of the people around them - and the complete and utter lack of privacy afforded by their current position. "Let's go inside, I'll show you where you're staying."

She takes Abby's hand and turns back towards the tower, and as she does the rest of her friends crowd closer. She attempts to herd them all up the stairs, but they each insist on having their own greeting before they do. Raven and Bellamy both offer bear hugs, neither particularly concerned that Clarke refuses to drop Abby's hand as they throw their arms around her. Kane beams with what can only be pride as he takes his turn for a hug, and even Octavia allows for a hug of her own. When at last she is able to usher everyone into the foyer, Lexa falls into step with her and Abby, and offers Clarke a small smile.

They separate at the throne room's floor, with Lexa promising to reconvene with them once _Skaikru_ has settled in. There are others who will lead the rest of the delegation to where they will stay, the guards and other assistants, but Clarke takes her friends and family to the ambassadors' level where the rest of the chiefs and their attaches are housed. She has ensured that Abby has the room beside her own - even though she rarely spends time in that room anymore - and that the others have rooms of their own nearby. All are smaller than Clarke's and simple in decoration, but they are warm and safe.

Clarke's first instinct is to gather everyone in her room and have lunch brought up, but she quickly realizes the potential drawbacks. They need to be visible now, as visible as possible. So instead she brings them all down to the room they'd dined in the last time her friends were here, where the usual table has been set up.

Clarke can practically feel her friends’ desire to question her, specifically her mother who all but refuses to leave her side. After the day's formalities Clarke plans to have a private conversation with her mother - if not all of them - but for now she manages to shepherd them downstairs. As they step into the room, three figures turn to face them: Helena, Indra, and Wyatt.

"Welcome, _Skaikru,_ " Helena says with a brilliant and charming smile. All three of them stand at the head of the table closest to the door, and as they turn, the rest of the table becomes visible: it is loaded fit to breaking with food, as if they were anticipating their arrival. Helena waves a hand at the food. "You must be hungry. Please, join us."

The chieftains take turns introducing themselves to Abby, who is now much more on her game. She is friendly with each of them, but not overly so, striking a balance between politeness and warmth to maintain professionalism. In short order, the door opens and Lexa sweeps in, now without her sword or pauldron and cape. She makes a more personal introduction to Abby, shaking her hand between both of hers, and motions for her and the chieftains to join the table.

Prior to this exact moment, Clarke had not spent much time considering how Lexa and her mother might interact together. Surely, she'd assumed, Lexa would be her usual confident, capable self, and her mother would be firm but diplomatic, as she always is in matters of politics. But in the moment that Lexa shakes Abby's hand, Clarke sees something she had all but forgotten Lexa was capable of: beneath her armor, and her practiced greeting, Lexa is just the tiniest, littlest bit awkward.

Clarke’s eyebrows feel as though they rise to the top of her head. She watches Lexa make her way to the head of the table, but the Commander refuses to meet her eyes. As if she _knows_. Finally Clarke glances over at Helena, who looks just as surprised - but far more obviously amused - as she does.

With her hand just above the table, Helena points subtly at Abby. " _Is_ _that your mom?"_ she mouths. When Clarke nods, Helena makes an approving - and understanding - face in response.

Lexa indicates that Abby should sit to one side of her, and Helena takes the place opposite. Indra takes the seat beside her and Clarke claims the spot next to her mom. As the others fill in the conversation picks up, bouncing from one corner of the table to another. Abby insists on being all business even when Kane attempts to move her otherwise. Lexa responds easily and in detail, whatever moment of uncertainty that once claimed her having passed.

"Hey, Raven," Helena calls at one point, amidst it all. Raven had been in conversation with Bellamy and Kane up to that point, but she turns at the sound of her name. When her eyes land on Helena, Clarke swears she sees her pupils dilate. "Did you ever end up getting that...box thing? Working?"

Raven's eyebrows go up. "Box?"

"Yeah - the one that was supposed to play music?"

Kane frowns his confusion, his eyes moving between Helena and Raven. "I take it you know each other?"

"They met last time we were here," Bellamy answers for them, and sits back in his chair with a cup of wine in his hand.

“I’m sure Raven has better things to do than fix an iPod,” Clarke is quick to interject. She eyes Bellamy as she does, who responds with a shrug and a large sip from his cup. As far as Clarke knows, he’s the only one of her friends who might have even an inkling of her relationship to Lexa - and she has no interest in that becoming public knowledge, not when so much is already at stake. 

That being said, Helena and Raven are looking at each other with a particularly...hungry, Clarke would say, look in their eyes. “But...you did promise Helena you would try.” She cocks her head and grins at Raven. “That’s some decent motivation for giving it a try, I’d imagine.”

"I do not merely _try,_ Clarke," Raven answers, not un-haughtily. "I _do_. But I haven't managed to figure it out yet."

"So you don't do," Helena grins, and Raven looks affronted.

" _Yet,_ I said," she emphasizes. "Genius takes time."

“It’s been a whole winter,” Clarke takes a bite of the roll in her hand, never taking her eyes off Raven, “but okay.”

"We just fuckin' got here," Octavia says, giving a long suffering sigh as she sits back in her seat. Bellamy, who sits next to her, reaches over and clinks his cup to hers. 

The conversation continues to waffle between banter and professional talk, depending on who's involved. Helena is, as usual, making liberal use of her charms to grease the wheels; through her, Kane and Wyatt get to talking and Indra makes small talk with the others. Try as she might to wade into conversation between Abby and Lexa, however, Helena can make no headway. After a third attempt ends in failure, she just looks at Clarke and shrugs.

When lunch is over, everyone starts to go their separate ways: the Sky People back to their rooms, the chieftains back to their work. But as Lexa turns for the door, Abby stands up with her hands on the table.

"Hang on a moment," she says, and those still left - Helena, Bellamy, and Kane, along with Lexa and Clarke - turn to look at her. Abby zeroes in on Lexa. "I was hoping I could speak to you alone for a while, Commander. And you too, Clarke."

Clarke glances toward Lexa and her mother and back again. When Lexa merely nods in acknowledgement, Clarke shrugs. “Of course.” She holds the door for Bellamy who gives her a look that distinctly says ‘good luck.’ “What’s on your mind, Mom?” she asks as the door clicks shut behind him.

"I want to know..." She says, pressing her hands flat to the table and looking down at its surface. "What the hell happened."

Lexa looks from Abby to Clarke, and clasps her hands behind her back. "What happened, Abigail?"

"My daughter was under _your_ protection," Abby answers, and jabs a finger in her direction. "I was assured she would be safe, and instead she is kidnapped, tortured. Nearly killed?"

Clarke’s stomach sinks at the accusation. She knew Abby would want to know what happened, but it’s been such an uphill battle getting Lexa to understand where the blame truly lies... “Mom, it wasn’t her fault. We were out camping with dozens of trained warriors -“ it seems unnecessary to point out that half of that dozen was comprised of children and teenagers “- and while I was out changing a trap, I was ambushed. There was no way we could’ve known that _Azgeda_ had a camp nearby, they were trespassing on Indra’s land.”

"An entire army sitting less than a day's ride away, and no one knew about it?" Abby puts one hand on her hip, incredulous.

“They were quiet about it, quiet enough not to alert any of Indra’s scouts. I don’t think they expected Lexa to ride on their camp, but because she did...well, we’re in this mess.” Clarke meets Lexa’s eyes. “And I’m alive.”

Lexa holds that gaze as she says, "Clarke has been of great service during her time here." She turns to Abby, hands still held behind her back. "To me, and to her people. There are those who were uncomfortable with the influence she was beginning to leverage in _Skaikru's_ name, and that made her a target. That was further exacerbated by the proximity she bore to me."

Abby arches an unimpressed eyebrow. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

“Our enemy isn’t Lexa, it’s _Azgeda_.” Clarke moves back around the table to her mother’s side and takes one of her hands. “They’ll take any opportunity to weaken Lexa’s position and oust her as Commander. Which...includes hurting her. Which made me an easy target.”

" _Hurting_ her? How exactly do you--"

The room goes very still. Abby continues looking at Clarke, but her eyes go wide as a realization dawns. She looks over at Lexa, who has ducked her eyes, and then immediately back at Clarke.

"Absolutely not," she says quietly.

“I want you to know the full context of all this, and we can discuss it more in detail later.” Clarke says hurriedly. She understands her mother’s concern, but her voice is firm. “But the important thing is that I’m fine, despite _Azgeda’s_ attempts to ensure otherwise. We have a common enemy, and it won’t solve anything to dwell on what portion of blame belongs to who.”

"Oh, we will _absolutely--_ " Abby turns abruptly to Lexa again, a tight smile on her face. "I'm sorry, Commander, but would you mind giving us some privacy? I would like to speak to my--"

"I love your daughter."

The words come out in a tumble from Lexa's mouth, and it's clear that she knows it; her face goes red, but she stands stalwart, and determinedly matches Abigail's gaze. Her eyes shift only long enough to give Clarke a nervous look before returning to Abby's and, straightening her shoulders, she continues, "I love Clarke. It is, in no small part, my fault that she was targeted; that much cannot be denied. But I risked my life, the lives of Nightbloods, and the health of my Coalition to ensure that she was returned safely. There is not a day or a night that goes by," and now a furtive glance at Clarke, "that I do not wish that I had behaved differently. That I stopped any of this, all of this from happening. But I do not regret what I did to get her back. And I would do it again."

Clarke’s chest aches at that, at the look on Lexa’s face. Her natural instinct is to go to her, and she makes it about two steps. “Lexa...”

A squeeze from her mom's hand stops her. "I am sorry, Commander," Abby says again, "but could you...?"

Lexa's lips twitch up into the smallest of wry smiles, but she inclines her head. "Of course. I apologize for any undue stress I may have caused. If you have any further questions for me, or find yourself in need of anything, please let the guards know. They will know how to find me."

And with one last, apologetic look at Clarke, the Commander turns and leaves the room.

Once the door closes behind her, Abby lifts a hand and presses her thumb and forefinger to her eyes. She takes in a slow, steadying breath, and Clarke only has a moment to imagine Lexa doing the exact same thing on the other side of the door before Abby speaks. "So let me get this straight." She drops her hand and looks at Clarke, her eyebrows raised. "You're dating the Commander?"

Clarke cringes. “Yes, I suppose you could...say that. But we have more important things to discuss here than my love life.”

"That may be true," Abby says, and gives her the sort of severe look that only a disapproving parent can, "but we are certainly going to have a nice, long chat about this."

Clarke heaves a resigned sigh. This wasn't exactly how she wanted to broach the subject.

But have a long chat they do. Clarke brings her mom up to her room and, with repeated efforts to ensure that both of them keep their voices down, she painstakingly retells the story of the last few months. Abby refuses to go on to any political matters until her questions about Clarke and Lexa are answered - and from the perspective of a parent, Clarke begrudgingly admits she has a right to be worried. Lexa has worked to establish good relations with the Sky People over the last few months, but that comes after a betrayal that left Abby herself, among others, to die unbelievably painful deaths in the Mountain. And even before that, Lexa stood at the fore of the force that once threatened to annihilate them all. She has worked with Lexa before, but like most in this world has never had the benefit of seeing her with her guard down; and now she learns that Lexa was more than tangentially involved in the kidnapping of her only child. Abby has never been happy with the idea of her daughter in danger, even as she understands the necessity of it, and this moment proves to be no different.

But after much pacing around the room, arms folded over her chest and an hour's worth of questions, Abby's immediate vitriol at the idea finally begins to subside. It's clear that she is still not entirely comfortable with the idea of the relationship - but then, she's never been entirely comfortable with the idea of anyone dating her daughter.

Eventually she sits down in the chair beside Clarke, her hands pressed together between her knees. She levels a very serious look at Clarke.

"You love her?"

Clarke meets her mother's gaze with an equally serious expression. "I do. Very much. I would never have gotten into this if I didn't."

Abby takes a moment to digest this, and Clarke can tell there is real work going on behind her eyes. Then, "And she respects you? Are you her equal?"

"Yes," Clarke is quick to answer. "She respects me. We argue as often as not. We respect each other, but not to the point of backing down from our opinions. I think we are equals, in this at least. In our relationship. Outside of that..." Clarke spreads her arms a little and shrugs. "Well, I don't really know. So far you're maybe the fourth or fifth person that knows about us."

There had been a lot of questions about the secret nature of their relationship earlier, but Abby appears satisfied for now. Instead of pushing it any further, she asks, "And you're happy?"

Whenever Clarke feels the need to bring her feelings for Lexa to mind - whether she's trying to remind herself how much she loves her while they're arguing, or trying to calm herself down, or even just missing her - she always summons up an image of the Commander's smile. That small, soft smile that despite its rare appearance is so quintessentially Lexa. Bringing it to mind now pulls the corners of Clarke's lips up in a similar way.

"I'm happy," she says, "when we're together, and nobody is trying to kill us. I won't say I can't imagine being without her, because the last few weeks have forced me to think about that possibility constantly. But still, I can't really imagine it. Maybe I just don't want to."

Abby continues to look at her for several seconds, her eyes moving between both of Clarke's. Then she sighs and lowers her head into one hand.

"I wish your father could see this," she mutters, but in that moment all the anxiety and negativity go out of her. She looks back up at Clarke and, in a much easier tone, says, "Alright, then. Tell me about this situation with the Ice Nation."

Clarke has never felt more relieved to hear those words. They talk through the next few hours, longer than Clarke anticipated but clearly necessary. She brings Abby up to speed on everything they've been doing the past few weeks to attempt to garner support. 

They quickly move into the specifics of what joining the Coalition will entail. Clarke is not surprised at Abby's concerns - most she'd anticipated - but she is surprised at how, at times, she finds herself defending Lexa's opinion. She reminds herself that the benefit of having spoken to Lexa about all of this at length already is that they were able to come to a mostly amenable compromise, and is now able to relay that compromise to her mother. But still, it feels odd to be campaigning for the benefit of the Coalition which at times, it seems, at odds with the interests of her own people.

It's late by the time Abby leaves. Clarke anticipated sneaking over to Lexa's room, to check in on her after that decidedly awkward interaction with her mother. But she's barely given the chance - not two minutes after her mother leaves, Octavia, Bellamy, and Raven, come barreling into her room, sweets and apparently a wine skin in hand. Clarke doesn't even bother asking how they acquired any of these things, just laughs and rolls her eyes as Raven and Octavia pile onto her bed and Bellamy makes himself at home in her favorite chair.

It doesn't take long for them to get around to her relationship with Lexa. They, of course, waited around to overhear some of the interaction between Lexa and Abby, and Bellamy filled in the rest. So, after just a little prodding, she tells them. She doesn't go into detail, but she admits that she and Lexa are essentially dating and resigns herself to answering the same flurry of questions she'd just answered for her mother. Bellamy seems concerned, but happy for her. Raven seems excited and annoyingly amused and Octavia eventually offers a begrudging and certainly wine-induced 'I'm glad you're happy,' which Clarke happily reads as her acceptance.

Some time after midnight she finally kicks them out. Clarke makes them each promise never to speak of her and Lexa's relationship outside of the four of them and offers to let them join her morning training with Ronnie and Kita. As soon as they leave, she slumps down against her chair in exhaustion - and in minutes, is passed out asleep.

She wakes to another grey, dreary sky, and quickly dresses in her usual Henley and pants, adding her scarf, jacket, and gloves for extra insulation from what promises to be a chilly morning. When she arrives in the courtyard, it's to the sound of practice already echoing from the training pitch.

"Watch your footing--" she hears Lexa say, and turns the corner just in time to see Ronnie slip on a patch of slush and hit the ground with an _oof_. That doesn't put an end to the action, however, as Kita takes his place and begins barraging the Commander with blows from a training sword. It would appear that in the time it took for Clarke to arrive this morning, Lexa has taken on both of the Nightbloods at once.

"Feeling alright?" Clarke asks innocently, just loud enough for Ronnie and the other two - if they were listening between parries and blows - to hear. "Wouldn't want you breaking anything else."

Ronnie is blinking and rubbing half melted snow out of his hair when he looks up at her, a grumpy look on his face. Then he lays back, and with a swift motion he lifts his legs, rolls backwards over one shoulder, and gets to his feet.

"Just a little rusty," he says, and leaps back into the fray.

Clarke has seen Lexa spar with Nightbloods before, but it's never been quite like this. She moves faster than usual, dancing in and around the Nightbloods’ attempted blows as though, well - as though she's _trying_. There's a bright, wild look in her eyes as she does and of all things, a smile on her face.

They go for some time longer before, skipping backwards from a simultaneous attack from both Nightbloods, she holds a hand up to stop them.

"Enough, enough!" she says - but still has to catch a few blows before Kita and Ronnie can stop themselves. Once they do, she looks up at Clarke. "I have taken up enough of your student's time."

Clarke waves a hand dismissively even as she wanders over to the barrel of wooden swords to choose one. "Please, keep going if you want to. I'm in no hurry to have my ass handed to me."

It hasn't escaped Clarke's attention that Lexa has been training harder than usual lately. It worries her, but she understands. Clarke imagines it's her version of being at the clinic - it feels like something she can do well and confidently, in a time when nearly everything else seems uncertain.

And if it does come down to a duel to the death, having her at her best wouldn't be the worst thing.

"Aww, and here I thought you'd been doing so good!" Ronnie says, turning to face Clarke. He gives his practice sword a spin and a flourish, the energy of a full on fight still bright in his eyes.

"Well, you know what _Heda_ says, Ronnie," Kita quips. She stands beside him and produces an equally unnecessary, but much tighter version of his sword flourish before coming to a ready stance. "What doesn't kill you will make you stronger."

In the first few minutes, Clarke determines that she'll have to thank Lexa later for riling her trainers up for her; Kita and Ronnie are even more eager to test her than usual. They aren't mean about it, or in any way cruel, but they certainly aren't interested in letting her slack off for even a moment. The first break she gets is when she and Kita notice figures coming around the corner from the tower entrance.

Helena leads the pack with Raven coming close behind, while the Blake siblings and Indra bring up the rear. Helena, Indra, and Octavia all look as though they're dressed for training, while Bellamy and Raven, in thick, hooded jackets, are dressed for warmth. 

"Clarke is still standing," Helena says to Raven, clearly intentionally loud enough for her to hear. "That's a good sign."

"Listen, I've gotten much--" Kita cuts her off with a particularly vicious strike to her side and it's all Clarke can do to block it just inches from hitting her. "Better," Clarke grunts as she side steps yet another blow, this time from Ronnie. "Though this two on one thing is...difficult."

It's made even more annoying by the fact that Ronnie and Kita are both very obviously holding back.

"Maybe you'd have better luck with two weapons." Helena is by now leaning against the fence, and as Clarke backs up she catches the smirk she tosses Raven's way. Clarke nearly slips at the decidedly suggestive smirk Raven tosses back.  
  
"Don't encourage them," she mutters, and ducks as Ronnie cuts up toward her head.

When at last she is allowed a break, it's seen as a sign that the others are free to join. Indra and Octavia hop over the fence to collect gear while Kita and Ronnie chat over their waterskins. Knowing she promised to spend some time with them during training - and, frankly, feeling a little tired of Ronnie's smug grin at the moment - Clarke turns to join her friends at the fence just in time to see Helena hop over.

"Try not to show off too much," Raven hums as she does, and the _Floukru_ chieftain turns on the tips of her toes to face her.

"I always show off when there's a pretty woman watching," she says, and winks at her before crossing the pitch to join Lexa, who is still amidst her own training.

"You know," Bellamy mutters to Raven, "you could just sleep with her."

"You could _definitely_ just sleep with her," Clarke confirms as she hops up onto the fence next to them. "Though somehow I doubt that will do anything to stop the endless flirting."

Even as she's talking to the two of them, her eyes find Lexa. The Commander looks happy enough, even more so than usual as she chats with Helena. Still, Clarke worries. After yesterday, and now with the vote looming so close...she spends more time worrying about Lexa than anything else, it seems.

" _Of course_ I could just sleep with her," Raven answers with a roll of her eye. When Clarke looks down at her, however, she looks a little more embarrassed than her words would imply. "But that would ruin the fun."

"Seriously?" Bellamy says, and looks up at Clarke with a grin on his face. "I'd say sex is pretty fun."

"I'd have to agree," Clarke grins back. "Break any hearts this winter, Bell?"

"He was too busy getting his heart broken," Raven says before he can respond. "Marina Rosso tossed him out in the snow twice. Shirtless, both times."

Bellamy shrugs at this in a way that admits he deserved it. But with a grin on his lips he says, "We had our differences."

At that point, Ronnie and Kita make their way closer to where the three of them are sitting. When Ronnie finally looks up, Clarke beckons him over. "Ronnie, Kita! Come here for a second. Do you remember my friends? I think you've both met them before, or was that just you, Ronnie?"

"I think that may have just been Ronnie," Kita answers, but the two trot over just the same. Introductions are made, but neither Nightblood extends a hand until Raven does. Then they both look at each other, a little bemused, before putting out their hands as well.

"I didn't know Clarke had gained an extra trainer," Bellamy says. "Is she that bad?"

"Hey!" Clarke shoves him in the shoulder, which in fact does nothing to Bellamy but does make her wobble on the wooden fence. "Ronnie broke his arm, so Kita took over for a while. Now I think they just like beating up on me."

"I never knew you thought so highly of us, Clarke," Ronnie says with a grin.

"Oh please, you know I love you both." Ronnie is close enough that Clarke can ruffle his hair, and she smiles at Kita. She's never actually said those words out loud to either of them, but it feels right. Like Lexa, like her mother and her friends and Helena: they're hers.

Ronnie makes a show of batting her hand away, but he's grinning all the while. As he smooths his hair back into place, Kita looks at Bellamy and Raven.

"So you are from Arkadia?"

"We are now," Bellamy answers, and Kita again looks confused. He smiles bashfully and adds, "I meant because we were in the sky first. But yes, we're from Arkadia."

"What's it like?" Kita probes. "I've heard that it is a city like ours, but made entirely out of iron and steel."

"It's not really iron. Or much steel, for that matter," Raven says, no doubt knowing every single material that went into making the Arc. "And it's smaller than Polis, but it is mostly made of--"

" _Natbliddas!"_

Both Ronnie and Kita snap to attention, whirling around at the sound of Lexa's call. The Commander stands at the far end of the pitch with Helena, and both women are currently looking at their cluster by the fence. Lexa's eyebrow is raised, and she looks disapproving.

"Shouldn't you be training?" she admonishes.

" _Sha, Heda!"_

They don't quite scurry, but they do very quickly jog back toward Lexa and away from the three of them. Clarke catches Lexa's eye and shakes her head, an amused smile on her face.

The Commander grins a little in response, and rolls her eyes.

"What did she call them?" Bellamy asks, bringing her attention back to him and Raven.

" _Natbliddas_. It means 'Nightblood.' They..." Clarke purses her lips, unsure exactly how detailed to get. "They're called that because their blood, somehow, I assume from radiation, is black. It has significant meaning for Grounders, I'm not entirely sure why. But only Nightbloods can become Commander."

"That's why they're so good at fighting, then?" He asks, watching as Kita and Ronnie heft their practice swords. "She trains them?"

"Right. Lexa trains all of the Nightbloods, but Kita and Ronnie are the oldest. And the most likely to become Commander, if..." Clarke swallows the bile that rises in her throat at the inevitable idea that follows. "If something happens to Lexa," she ultimately finishes.

Picking up on the concern, Bellamy gives her a sympathetic look. Raven, meanwhile, stands looking into the middle distance with her eyes squinted, as though she's doing mental math.

"So..." she turns and looks up at Clarke. "They're basically your kids, right?"

Clarke blinks at her a few times, totally uncomprehending. "What?"

"They're your kids." Raven's thoughtful look fades into a grin as the energy picks up steam. "They're her heirs, you're her - whatever - and the way you just--" she looks at Bellamy. "I mean, you saw that, right?"

The elder Blake sibling is grinning, then chuckling, then outright laughing.

"They're not...I mean, they're both teenagers! But..." Clarke tilts her head to the side, watching Kita and Ronnie show Helena where she can find her preferred training weapons. "I am pretty fond of them. I guess it is a sort of family, that I have here. Not as good as you jerks, obviously, but it'll do."

"Ugh." Raven wrinkles her nose, even as she throws an arm around Clarke's waist to hug her. "Gross."

When she's caught her breath, Clarke rejoins what has by then devolved into an informal group training session. Fighters trade partners, or linger nearby to watch others as they spar. Octavia pairs with Kita, Indra with Lexa, Helena and Clarke face off for a while. By the time the rest of the Nightbloods arrive, Clarke is tired, bruised, but also laughing. It feels good to forget about the threats facing them, even for a short time.

But, as all good things must, her free time comes to an end. She returns to the tower with the others, but leaves them to reconvene with Abby and Kane so that she can tend to business with the other chiefs and ambassadors. Later in the day she brings Abby with her, and is again reminded of her political and diplomatic prowess. They leave a good impression with each, and by the time they're done there's little more Clarke wants to do than curl up by the fire with Lexa.

So after dinner and her friends finally decide to retire for the night, Clarke takes the opportunity to slip away. She knows, objectively, how much more dangerous the chiefs and anyone else finding out about their relationship is now, but she can’t quite bring herself to care. Or at least, not enough to stop herself from sneaking down the delegates’ floor and into Lexa’s room.

At this hour, she anticipated walking in to find the fire roaring, Lexa wearing something soft and comfortable, maybe even reading. What she doesn't expect is to find the Commander fully passed out on the couch, face half covered by a book...and Pip curled up on her feet, snoozing away.

Clarke’s heart swells impossibly large in her chest. She pads quietly over to the front of the couch, careful not to disturb the slumbering Commander.

Now that she’s closer, she can see how asleep Lexa must be - her mouth is slightly open, despite the book half draped over her face, and there’s this soft sound that she makes as she breathes. Not quite a snore, but not quite not a snore. Pip does notice her, but acknowledges her presence by opening one eye, closing it again, and nuzzling closer against Lexa’s ankles. 

Clarke kneels on the floor in front of the couch and gently, slowly, removes the book with one hand while the other pushes a few curls back from Lexa’s forehead.

The Commander doesn't move at first; the book slides away, and the curls. But as Clarke then touches her cheek, Lexa's hand shoots up and closes tightly around Clarke's wrist. It's enough to startle Clarke - and Pip, whose head lifts up to look - but then Lexa's eyes open, and her grip loosens.

"Clarke?" she says softly. Then she looks around, and slowly pushes herself up into a sitting position. Pip looks at the both of them, disgruntled by losing her sleeping spot, and hops off the couch. "What time is it?"

“I don’t know, honestly. Late.” Clarke stands only enough to fall back into the space Lexa just vacated. “Come back here,” she taps her thigh to emphasize her point. “You’re always being my pillow, let me return the favor.”

"Ah - no, thank you, my love," Lexa says. She's a little bleary, looking around like she's still trying to remember how she got here. The curls that Clarke just pushed away fall back into her face, and she smooths them back over the top of her head. "There are still plans for the festival that I need to review, and new revisions for the agreement with _Skaikru_ that I haven't seen..."

“Lexa, you fell asleep with a book on your face. I think you can pick back up on the preparation tomorrow.” Clarke turns to face her more fully, taking in the lines under her eyes, the way she rubs at her face and blinks rapidly to keep herself awake. “I miss you,” Clarke tries a different tact. “We haven’t really talked since yesterday, since that whole...thing. With my mom.”

Lexa freezes for a beat with her fingers pressed to her eyes. Then she sits back with a sigh, and drops both of her hands into her lap. "She doesn't like me, does she." It isn't a question.

“She’s...skeptical. She’s worried about me.” Clarke scoots closer and takes Lexa’s hand in hers, entwining their fingers. “She hasn’t had time to get to know you, like I do. She only knows the Commander. But she’ll come around.”

Her fingers receive a gentle squeeze in return, and Lexa covers them with her other hand. "I was concerned that such a thing might happen," she sighs. "Though we have had amenable correspondence, she has good reason to be suspicious of me - even before all of..." she gestures at the papers in front of her before setting her hand back on Clarke's. "This. Came to pass."

"It did take me a little while to come around," Clarke gently teases. "She'll do the same, just give her time. After _Skaikru_ joins the Coalition, you may even have reason to visit Arkadia..."

The thought brings a mix of emotions, but at the forefront is amusement. Here they are, talking about the future when the present hangs on the edge of a knife. Clarke chuckles aloud. "I almost can't believe, of all the things we could be discussing, we're talking about whether or not my mom _likes_ you."

"She may not be attempting to singlehandedly destroy us and the Coalition," Lexa says, allowing herself an amused smile, "but her thoughts on the matter are nevertheless important. What if she forbade me from seeing you? A few dozen books I've read assure me she has that power."

Clarke's chuckle turns into a full on laugh. "Maybe if I were fifteen and this were Victorian England! Besides, do I seem like the type of person to allow someone to forbid me from seeing you?"

"Well no! No, that - I suppose that isn't really the point." Lexa doesn't laugh, but she does tip her shoulder into Clarke's. Her grin is now wide and bright, and as she looks down to brush her thumb against the back of Clarke's wrist, her hair falls against the opposite side of her face. "I know you are close with your mother. I know you were close with your father. Family means a lot to you, and I do not wish to intrude on that in any way."

"Well, that's... very sweet of you, actually." Clarke nuzzles closer into Lexa's neck and kisses her lightly. Even just breathing in the scent of her feels calming. "Family does mean a lot to me," she says and angles her head to rest on Lexa's shoulder. "But I have a family here now, too. You, Ronnie, Kita, Helena..." 

Clarke can almost hear the echo of her sentiments earlier in the day. She hadn't realized how much it meant to her, when she so off-handedly declared this to Raven and Bellamy - but it feels right. "I've just had time to get to know your family. You haven't spent as much time with mine."

Lexa's hand stills. "My family?" She repeats, and pulls away to look at Clarke. She's quiet for a moment, just looking at her, before her eyes angle just off to the side. "I don't have a..."

"Of course you do," Clarke says gently. "Family doesn't have to be by blood, it can be people you find. People you sort of... adopt, I guess. Raven and I aren't sisters, but I would do anything for her. She's part of the family we made when we came here. Like Helena is for you."

"Helena..." Lexa repeats quietly. She doesn't lift her eyes, and her thumb begins moving absently again - worrying Clarke's wrist now, more than caressing it. "I...had not thought of it that way."

"I can see why." Clarke watches Lexa's expression. "You've been told your whole life that love is weakness. I assume the concept of a family falls under that umbrella. But that's how I think of Helena now, and how I think of Ronnie and Kita. And..." Clarke takes a breath to slow her annoyingly quick heartbeat, "how I think of you. You're my family. If I lost you, it would feel the same as losing a family member. Like I'd lost a part of me."

At that Lexa does look up, the surprise in her eyes quickly accompanied by a blush. "I...I don't know what to say," she says, a rare admission from the Commander. A wobbly smile pulls at her lips. "I have never been part of a family before - I don't know that I will be any good at it."

"It's not so hard, really. I think you have some good practice with Helena, and maybe with me..." Clarke frowns at the creep of doubt evident in her voice and amends, "Obviously, with me. Mostly you put up with each other's more annoying habits, and protect them when they need protecting. And love them through all of that." She chuckles softly, and adds, "Actually, you might be better at being part of a family than I am."

"I do have a considerable amount of practice at that," Lexa chuckles. She holds Clarke's hand between hers a moment longer, then lifts it and presses Clarke's palm to her cheek. She kisses the heel of her palm and says, "I'm honored, Clarke. To be a part of your family."

There are a lot of times that the Commander says that she's "honored" - but this one is different. It doesn't carry the obligatory "I have to say this because there are egos involved" dullness, or the weight of "my ancestors have said this for generations and so I must as well." Instead Lexa is soft, earnest, and - if the look in her eye and blush on her cheek are anything to go by - exceedingly pleased.  
  
"Thank you."

Clarke turns the hand against Lexa's cheek just enough to cup her jaw, and pulls her forward for a kiss. "There's nothing to thank me for," she whispers as they pull apart, "but you're welcome."

Lexa smiles, bright and honest, as her fingers slip into the hair at the nape of Clarke's neck and pulls her in again. They both lose themselves in the kiss for a time, a release of some pent up energy from the last thirty-six hours, until Lexa makes a sound against Clarke's lips.

"Mm - one moment, before I forget it." She gives Clarke a last, quick kiss before she pulls away. Sitting forward to move some papers around, she ultimately retrieves a smaller scrap and hands it to Clarke. "My scouts have reported back. _Azgeda's_ delegation has left their capital, but are not on schedule to arrive until after the festival. They estimate that they will not be here until the day after, at least." She indicates a specific line of the report. "Most interestingly, no one fitting Roan's description is among the Queen's entourage."

Even just Roan's name in Lexa's mouth makes Clarke's blood begin to boil, but the fact that he won't be joining the delegation from _Azgeda_ is somewhat of a relief. It also seems odd, in a way. Roan didn't strike Clarke as someone to miss out on the fruition of his work. But then again, he did say his identity was meant to be a secret...the whole thing feels odd. "That is interesting," she says after a few moments of scanning the report. "Why do you think he wouldn't come?"

"It seemed like he held some position of authority in their encampment," Lexa says with a one-shoulder shrug. "Perhaps he has remained behind to oversee preparations we do not yet know about. Or to preserve his anonymity."

Clarke nods slowly, her mind whirring with what seem like endless possibilities. "Perhaps. At least he won't be here, that's somewhat of a relief. Though having to shake Nia's hand seems nearly as bad."

"On that we can agree." Lexa presses her lips together in a thin, repulsed line.

"You know what," Clarke pushes the report back across the table and faces Lexa more fully, "let's ignore this, for the rest of the night. We may not have much time to be together in the coming weeks, even if all goes well..." she trails off and her shoulders deflate a little. _Even if all goes well._ If it doesn't, Lexa may die. If it does, their relationship is still a secret and will be even more difficult to hide in the warmer, more well-traveled months. No matter what, their future is unclear. "Well. We're here now. We should be together, while we can."

The Commander looks like she is about to argue, but the appeal to time hits home; whatever objection she was about to voice dies before she opens her mouth. Instead she nods, takes both of Clarke's hands, and stands. "Come lay down with me. You can tell me what your friends have had to say about their second visit to Polis."

Clarke lets Lexa pull her to her feet and kisses her cheek in a silent 'thank you.' "Well, Raven at least seems far more excited to be here than last time..."

They curl up under the pile of blankets and skins on Lexa's bed, the two women sharing heat and stories from the last thirty-six hours until the candles burn low and they gradually nod off. The worries of the next morning would greet them with the sun, but for a short time they're able to hide in the dark together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi yes Lexa is a useless boob who's afraid of her mother-in-law, pass it on.


	16. Might I Have This Dance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Alcohol, explicit sexual content (oral, fingering)

Things do begin to improve in the days before the festival. Through their exposure to _Skaikru's_ leadership, and the carefully coordinated influence of Lexa and Helena over the other clan leaders directly, they are able to count more votes in their favor. There is no outright guarantee, of course; none of their jockeying includes the express purpose of ensuring Lexa wins a vote of no-confidence that has not yet been called, and not all clans are willing to outright disregard _Azgeda's_ plight in exchange for _Skaikru's_. Of the twelve, only the same four - _Trikru_ , _Floukru_ , _Yugledakru_ , and _Ouskejon_ _Kru_ \- actively reject _Azgeda's_ claim against the Commander, but the Rock Line, Desert Clan, and Lake People at least do not see the conflict between Polis and _Azgeda_ as a major issue. Some are still worried about the Sky People and their power, but intervention by their delegation tempers those fears somewhat. Combined with the announcement that the Rock Line delegation will not be able to attend the festival, their prospects for the vote are decidedly looking up. Negotiations with _Skaikru_ regarding their joining the Coalition are taking longer and prove to be a bit more aggressive than envisioned, but with the turning of the other clans the necessity of having them participate drops off.

Finally, with the festival all but upon them, thought and energy turn to the celebration itself. Unsurprisingly, the format of the First Thaw festival mirrors that of the First Fall, with the party involving a ceremonial dinner, pageantry, and - as becomes a topic of much discussion - costumes.

“This is ridiculous,” Clarke declares, mid-pace. She’s in her room with Elena, strategizing with her about what to wear to the festival - and experiencing some indecision. “I don’t care what I wear to this. I don’t _want_ to care, but here I am caring.” Clarke stops at the far end of the room, hands on her hips. “How about a dress?”

"Elegant, beautiful." Elena sits - lounges, really - in Clarke's not-favorite chair, a notebook in her lap and pencil in her hand. "And with shoulders like yours, we can ensure you catch every eye in the room."

“Shoulders, right.” Clarke sighs and flops into the opposite chair. “It does seem a little...cruel, almost. To wear something like that when we can’t...” Clarke sighs again, the end of that sentence clearly unnecessary to voice out loud. It’s not as if Elena doesn’t know about her and Lexa, anyway.

But then, a thought occurs to her. Lexa, watching her walk into the festival looking irresistible, but unable to do anything about it... “Actually, now that I think about it, that sounds perfect. Dress it is.”

It looks for a moment like Elena might sate the confusion on her face by asking what had made the decision - but then decides hard against it. She lifts her pencil.

"Let's draw up a few options..."

Clarke makes suggestions and asks questions as Elena sketches. She’s certainly not a designer or a tailor, but she does have an eye for lines and it doesn’t take long to come up with something that Clarke likes and Elena confirms can be made in time.

A floor length dress, not too tight but form fitting. Stretchy enough to dance comfortably and conform to her curves. The main attraction, as it were, is a large cutout in the upper part of the chest. Elena draws a sort of elongated, sideways diamond that will inevitably show off every asset of her upper body. The fabric continues up - no sleeves, with a high neckline stopping an inch or two up the throat. It continues in a thinner strip down about three fourths of the down the back, roughly five inches wide and curved to accentuate the shoulder blades. Apparently, that’s also where the zipper will go, as Elena draws it in as the finishing touch.

When it’s finally done, Clarke raises her eyebrows at the end product. “I never would’ve imagined myself in something like that, but I think I love it.”

"I think I know someone else who will, too," Elena says with a grin, and stands.

The festival itself takes place over the span of an entire day, not unlike its predecessor. Unlike its predecessor, however, Clarke is not confined to her room when the morning of it arrives; now known as _Wanheda_ throughout the city and an official representative of a visiting clan, there is no reason to stay hiding inside. Well, there is one: though Clarke can experience newfound freedom, Lexa remains constrained by her Commanderly duties, and cannot - especially in a dangerous climate like this one - easily interact with the crowds. So it is with a kiss and a promise to reconvene later that Clarke leaves her, and goes to collect her friends.

By midmorning they descend from the tower to find a brisk, sunny day and a lively city awaiting them. Although the political activities for the day will not occur until dinnertime, the rest of Polis has already launched into full celebration mode: the streets are festooned with streamers and people, brought out by the warm weather and the festive spirit. The market has been transformed, with most shops converted to stands for food and drink and the square populated by music and dancing and activities of all kinds. There is noise and people everywhere, and for the first time Clarke does not feel the cold clutch of panic around her neck. Instead, able to speak the language and navigate the familiar streets, she is able to experience the city in a way she never has before.

She recognizes other inhabitants of the tower in the crowd and stops to chat for a time with Jada and Leif. Even the park has been transformed for the occasion, with all manner of games arrayed across its lawn. Right around the time that Bellamy and Octavia climb up onto a balance beam, each with a padded staff in their hands, Helena materializes and joins in on the running commentary as the Blake siblings square off. (Bellamy is strong, there's no doubt, but Octavia is nimble - and dexterity proves essential when one is trying to stay on the beam. Bellamy ends up on his back before long.) 

They are all full of delicious food and more than a little tipsy when it comes time to prepare for the formal events of the evening. At the tower they go their separate ways, and Clarke enters her room to find Elena waiting with the same kit she had with her four months prior.

Elena assists Clarke in putting her hair up, but this time proves far easier than the last. It helps that Clarke chooses to forego braids. She may be more Grounder than her friends at this point, but she’s still _Klark kom Skaikru_ \- the girl that fell from the sky. Elena helps pull the majority of her curls up into a deceptively simple looking tousle of hair high on the back of her head. In fact, it takes Elena nearly an hour to get it all into place. Assuring it won’t fall down or move much, but maintaining the illusion of effortlessness. Clarke is impressed - she had no idea shaping hair could be an art form, but Elena certainly makes it seem that way. Several thin strands of curls fall down the sides of her head, as if haphazardly but decidedly - as Clarke can attest another thirty minutes of maneuvering later - purposeful.

It is then time for the moment of truth: Elena takes the covering off the dress, revealing a spray of blue and gold that Clarke hadn't believed was possible. The fabric is a bright, cool blue, meant to accent her eyes, and is beaded with gold. The beading collects atop her right shoulder, gathered so close as to give the impression that the fabric itself is gold, only to spread out as it stretches towards her left hip until it fades into nonexistence. She had seen it before the beads were added so that the sheath of it could be fitted, but now that she wears the finished product she can't take her eyes off her own reflection. Eye catching, indeed.

The last step is to recreate her face paint from the First Fall, the same alternating bars of black and blue that meld together into the single dark streak below her eyes. And then the preparations are complete; all that is left is to see how it will be received.

Bellamy and Octavia are out in the hall when she steps outside, and both do a double take as they catch sight of her. He wears a close approximation of a kind of dress uniform for the Ark's security forces, while Octavia is dressed entirely in Grounder leathers. There wasn't much surviving civilian formal wear on the Ark, but Raven soon emerges wearing a pair of slacks and a button down blouse, Kane in a shirt and blazer combination, and Abby in a simple black dress. Upon seeing her daughter Abby smiles, and pulls her quickly into a hug.

There is no formal procession through the city this time, as the dinner that is planned takes place in the tower courtyard; Clarke had seen them setting it up as they came in, a horseshoe of tables that opens towards the tower surrounded by a half dozen massive braziers piled high with wood. 

The foyer is filled with waiting delegations by the time they arrive, boisterous music pouring in from the open tower doors. The clans are being invited to join one by one and though Clarke cannot see over the top of the heads in front of her, she knows that Lexa already sits at the head table in her throne. The fifth clan leaves, then the sixth; the sound outside grows louder, more bodies and more voices added to the cacophony. _Skaikru,_ as an unofficial member of the Coalition, is the last to go - and it is Clarke who leads them out.

The courtyard is alight, brighter than Clarke has ever seen it. Torches stand every few feet around the perimeter of the horseshoe of tables set the courtyard ablaze in light, while the same iridescent butterflies that the Glowing Forest had put in the trees at the First Fall are now decorating every single tree within view. The flooding of light illuminates the city for at least half a mile in any direction.

The festivities of the rest of the city can still be heard and in some cases seen on the end of the perimeter of flame, but inside it stands a familiar scene. The chiefs from every clan stand to either side of the throne. The Nightbloods sit at one table to their left while the ambassadors and other delegates sit to their right. And in the middle of it all, is Lexa.

The Commander stands as Clarke leaves the relative darkness of the foyer. Gone is the red dress of First Fall; it was decided that a more militaristic look would project strength in the current climate, a decision that evidently led to the black, high-necked jacket she wears, its closure cutting off center down the right side of her torso. The shoulders of the jacket are accented with thin layers of what looks to be black steel, as are the buttons on her jacket's close and at her wrists. Cutting through all that black is the crimson of her banner, found in the embroidery on her collar and on every edge of her jacket. She doesn't wear her pauldron, but a half cape nevertheless hangs over her left shoulder, cloaking her arm and side from view. But Clarke takes all this in in a glance because from beneath her warpaint, Lexa's eyes are _riveted_.

Nowhere written in the script for that evening was the directive _Stand for Skaikru's entry_ \- and that combined with the look on Lexa's face that she can see clear through from here, leads Clarke to assume that the surge that brought her to her feet was entirely involuntary.

Clarke is barely able to conceal a smirk, and if Helena’s completely unmasked expression of stunned amusement turning to an impressed nod as they lock eyes is anything to go by, she doesn’t succeed. 

The members of _Skaikru_ make their way to the center of the horseshoe and pause in front of Lexa. From here Clarke can better see the accents of Lexa’s outfit - the way the jacket is perfectly tailored against her curves. She sucks in a breath and hopes it isn’t abundantly obvious how fast her heart is racing. The minute Lexa’s eyes meet hers, however, she’s at least reassured that she isn’t the only one with that particular concern.

After a few moments of silence, Clarke finally remembers why they’re here and gestures for her mother to stand beside her.

Pushing back from the table, Helena stands in her place beside Lexa, as though Lexa standing for this had been part of the plan all along.

" _Heda Leksa,_ " she begins, and then switches to English. "I present to you the delegation from _Skaikru_. I ask that you allow them a seat at your table, that we may dine as friends."

"Who speaks for you, _Skaikru?"_ Lexa asks. Her voice is even, for all that she forgot to stop looking at Clarke until a second before speaking.

"I do," Abby says. 

"Will your delegation dine in peace at our table? Follow our custom and obey our laws?"

"For this evening, Commander," Abby answers, "we will."

Lexa looks at Helena. "And you, _Helena kom Floukru,_ vouch for their honesty in this?"

Helena inclines her head. "I do, _Heda_."

"Very well then." Lexa lifts her cup. "You may have a seat at my table, _Skaikru,_ and are sheltered beneath my hospitality."

Abby is led to a seat next to Helena among the rest of the chiefs while Clarke and her friends are ushered to the table on the right. Clarke manages to catch Lexa’s eyes once more before Bellamy pulls her away - and the look in her eyes reflects the longing pulling at Clarke’s chest. She offers the Commander a smile before allowing Bellamy to lead her to a section of the table with enough room for all five of them.

After the weeks of political discourse, the ambassadors are all more than happy to do away with professionalism for an evening. Jada seems to have Bellamy and Kane riveted with stories from her younger years in _Floukru_ while Leif and Raven discuss their most recent architectural interests. Clarke didn’t even know Leif _had_ architectural interests. Bellamy appears to be getting along with Waverly swimmingly - so much so that Clarke might even elbow him in the side for being too much of a flirt, if she weren’t so distracted.

For all the other ambassadors and delegates attempt to hold her attention with conversation, Clarke’s eyes are continually pulled to the group of chieftains. To Helena, as her laugh lilts over the crowds now and again. To her mother - the desire to analyze her every move is impossible to overcome, but Clarke attempts to temper it. And, of course, it seems every few minutes her eyes find the Commander of their own accord.

Lexa is stoic but attentive, sipping sparingly from her cup and speaking more than she eats. Not all of the chiefs are interested in talking to her, but they have thankfully made that disinterest known before tonight and are seated at the far ends of the table. For those who are closest, she provides calm and - Clarke is sure - intense conversation. Whatever the topic of that conversation, however, it can't be doing more to distract her than Clarke's conversation is doing for her. On more than one occasion, she finds Lexa staring right back at her.

Given that Helena is seated next to her, it's somewhat of a wonder that the Commander isn’t drawn further out of her shell; the _Floukru_ chieftain, dressed in a sleeveless top that seems more wrap than sewn shirt, whose fabric shimmers blue, then navy, then purple in the light, does chatter with Lexa. But much of her time is spent fielding conversation from her other side. There, Abby is making the most of her face time with the other chiefs. Not that Clarke can tell what she's saying, of course - there's simply not a moment when she doesn't seem to be talking to someone.

And, on more than one occasion, Clarke’s attention is drawn directly across from her. She’s able to catch Kita’s eye only once and receives what might possibly have been a smile - it’s dark and they’re far apart, but Clarke could’ve sworn her lips moved up just a bit. But Ronnie waves at her several times throughout dinner, and each time Clarke can’t help but laugh and wave back just as emphatically.

By the time dinner is done and the tables are moved to make room for everyone to mingle and dance, Clarke has had enough wine to feel a little more relaxed and conversational. Even Ilian, who hasn’t spoken to her in weeks, chats with her for a few minutes as the courtyard is cleared.

"Clarke," he greets, and offers her a warmer smile than she's seen on him in some time. It's clear that he, too, has had some wine as he sidles up a little unsteadily beside her. They watch the extra hands for the evening carry the tables and chairs and set them against the tower wall. "You look lovely this evening."

“Thank you, Ilian.” Clarke inclines her head and looks him up and down. Unlike Cole, who took a similar route as Lexa and went for a more militaristic look, Ilian is wearing dark, flowing robes that seem to shimmer as he moves. No doubt another piece of craftsmanship from the Glowing Forest. “You look very handsome. Are you enjoying yourself?”

"It has been a welcome respite after such a chaotic few weeks," he nods. "And the food is always superb - have you tried the dumplings?"

“I did! They were incredible, though I’m not surprised. I’m always impressed with Tera’s cooking.”

"As am I. As we should all be!"

Up where the high table previously was, Lexa takes a second from her conversation with Indra to cast a wary eye over Clarke. Beside them, Helena is working her charm on a giggling, red-faced Tumnas.

"I am sorry, by the way," Ilian adds then. He looks down at his shoes, and then up at her. "That all of this has gotten in the way of our friendship the way it has." The tone is sincere, she thinks, but it imparts a somewhat unwelcome message: _it doesn't change anything._

“I am too,” Clarke says truthfully, “but I understand. Friendship in our line of work can be difficult. Perhaps for tonight we can pretend there’s nothing in the way of it.” Just at that moment, Tumnas exclaims in a half-offended tone and Helena laughs again, this time accompanied by three of the other chiefs. “We wouldn’t be the only ones,” Clarke says, and gestures toward the group.

"Oh," Ilian says, watching the indicated group with somewhat of a tight smile on his lips, "I don't know that I would say that's all play and no work up there."

"Clarke!" 

Before Clarke can respond Raven appears at her elbow. She's a little louder than usual and immediately puts herself in Clarke's space by placing both hands on one of her shoulders, but otherwise is very much her usual self. She's stolen the tie Kane had been wearing and now wears it under the open collar of her blouse; behind her, Bellamy jogs to catch up. "Clarke, you have to help me - what was that drink I liked the last time we were here? It was all bubbly and yeasty..."

Clarke blinks at the two of them for a few moments, registering this sudden onslaught of attention. “Oh? Is this an ale-related emergency? You liked the red, I think. Same as me.”

"Nope, that was me," Bellamy says with a shake of his head. "We argued over who'd get the red ale."

"No, Clarke and I argued first," Raven tells him. "Red ale, right, so--"

Ilian clears his throat quietly to get Clarke's attention. "I will leave you to your urgent matters, _Wanheda,"_ he says, and inclines his head.

“Urgent, indeed,” Clarke mutters as Ilian makes his way, predictably, back over to Cole. As soon as he’s out of earshot, she whirls on her friends.

“Seriously, you had to interrupt that? Ilian and I haven’t spoken in...” Clarke pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “Okay, what is happening, what are you two going on about?”

Bellamy has the good sense to look contrite, and a little worried. Raven, however, only looks distracted for a moment as she watches Ilian walk away. Then she continues: "They're setting up a table of casks over there, but I can't remember what the drink I had last time was called. You've been here for months, we figured you'd know."

Clarke sighs, but somehow still can’t help a smile from forming on her face. “You liked the red,” she repeats and points at Bellamy, “and you liked...the lighter ale? I think that was it. Here, I’ll come with you. I could use another myself.”

Raven has spoken truly: one of the tables now set against the tower wall bears a number of casks set on their side. An attendant is in the process of tapping each one and as they finish, a small line of party goers begin calling for drinks. Clarke requests a red ale for herself, for Raven, and a blonde for Bellamy, and the three of them stand to one side of the table debating the merits of each. In the end, Bellamy and Raven end up switching - just in time for Helena to appear.

By now the space amidst the braziers and torches is just empty grass and flagstones. The chairs have disappeared and all the tables are now occupied, one on one side of the tower entrance with the casks, another with food, and the last acting as a kind of barrier across the main gate. There is space to pass by on either side and some members of the gathered delegations do sidle by to rejoin the rest of the city's celebrations, but guards stand a dutiful watch. There are many powerful people gathered here, and in a culture like theirs safety can never be taken lightly.

In short order a group of musicians have set up at the foot of the tower steps and now begin to play on drums, wind, and stringed instruments. Helena magics a dram of whiskey out of the drink attendant - there is certainly no cask of _that_ sitting on the table - just as bodies begin to move to the dance floor.

"You have truly outdone yourself this time, Clarke," she says, standing beside her as Raven and Bellamy bicker in the background. She makes a show of taking Clarke's hand and turning her about, as though to view her from all angles. "There is not an eye here that has not wandered to you at some point tonight; bravo."

Now away from the table, Clarke can take in the whole of Helena's outfit: a top that wraps around her shoulders, over her breasts, and back around her ribs so as to leave her stomach and sides exposed. She has soft, flowing pants to match, and the two combined make her compliment especially high praise: with the tattoos across her abdomen exposed, toned stomach, shoulders, and biceps on display, and gold glinting from her ears and dripping from her wrists, Helena and her dark, thick curls are all but irresistible.

As she spins her, however, that is not all that Clarke takes note of. Across the courtyard, through the throng of dancers, she spies a serious-faced Titus approaching Lexa. After a few quick words, he draws her off to one side and out of sight.

The exchange, short though it is, immediately raises an alarm in Clarke's mind. She doesn't know what they're discussing but knows enough that if Titus is involved, it must be serious. At least to him. That thought inspires an eye roll, to which Helena raises an eyebrow. "Sorry, I was distracted," Clarke attempts to explain. "I don't know how, though - you look...what's an appropriate word. _Resplendent_ , in that. If anyone is sparing an eye for me tonight, it must be because they haven't caught a glimpse of you yet."

"Clarke, you flatter me!" She says, and touches her collarbone with the hand not holding Clarke's while batting her eyelashes at her dramatically. The rise in volume that accompanies those words is enough to draw Raven's attention. "Perhaps there's a double victory to be had then, as I've already decided that I am going to make every person here jealous by having your first dance."

"I get the sense I wouldn't be able to argue with that, even if I wanted to." Clarke grins as she sees Raven make a face and take a large swig of her ale. "Lead on, please."

"With pleasure," Helena hums, and leads her to the open courtyard.

The music is lively and - if the various groups dancing are any indication - suitable to a number of types of dances. Helena leads her through a set of steps that she vaguely remembers from the First Fall, and that come back to her after the first round or two. It takes a particular amount of attention now that she's wearing a dress, but there's enough give in the skirt to move easily once she's become accustomed to it.

"So," Helena says, as the round brings their faces close to each other, "have you been enjoying your evening, Clarke?"

“I have.” Clarke pauses her answer in favor of moving through another set of steps, then, “It could be better, admittedly. I didn’t really know what I was missing last time.”

"You did have me teaching you how to dance last time," Helena teases. "Am I not your ideal dance partner anymore?"

“Well, my ideal dance partner apparently doesn’t dance,” Clarke glances back at Bellamy and Raven. The former is trying to maintain a conversation while Raven is unsubtly distracted every few seconds by Helena. “Yours might, though,” and Clarke nods back over her shoulder at the two of them.

Helena chuckles, and pulls Clarke in towards her. "I did say I wanted to make _everyone_ jealous," she hums. After a beat - and in a considerably more serious tone - she adds, "And surprisingly, I think I succeeded..."

Clarke isn't initially sure what she means. It's pretty clear that they do have a number of eyes on them, though with the way both of them look tonight that isn't the most surprising. But as they turn, Clarke catches sight of what Helena must have been referring to: the Commander, returned from whatever short conversation there was to be had with Titus, watching them intently. She stands apart from everyone, miraculously alone for the moment, and with her hands clasped behind her back - but it's not jealousy that registers on her face. If Clarke had to guess, she'd say...indecision?

“I think that may be a lost cause,” Clarke says with a sigh, “but I appreciate the effort.”

Now familiar enough with the steps, Clarke takes the lead long enough to twirl Helena in a circle. When they come back together, now just a few inches apart, Clarke whispers, “And for the record, Raven is my best friend. Be careful with her.” It’s not a threat, more of a request - but Helena knows Clarke well enough to understand the ferocity with which she cares for her friends.

"I will, Clarke," Helena promises. There's not a moment of hesitation in the answer. "I know it doesn't seem like I take this seriously, but I do. I enjoy her - she's sharp as a blade, and keeps up with me well. We haven't discussed it in detail, but..." Her eyes drift off in the direction Clarke knows Raven is standing, "I'm willing to take this as far or as short as she'd like, no less and no more."

Clarke inclines her head, considering Helena's serious expression - and then a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips. "I trust you. Besides, I think you may be just what each other needs. I can tell you now, I've never known Raven to run away from anything - or anyone."

That comment clearly catches Helena off guard; her eyes go a little wide at first, then they lower demurely. Of all people, Helena is _blushing_. 

The song ends and all the dancers come to a laughing tumble of a stop. As they show their appreciation for the players, Helena leans in to press a quick kiss to Clarke's cheek, then heads back to the drink table with determination in her eyes. Clarke is about to do the same when she spots a flash of black and red from the corner of her eye, and turns to see the Commander making her way toward her.

Clarke is still more or less in the middle of the crowd of dancers, but as the Commander moves through them they part to the side, the sounds of laughter and boisterous whooping almost instantly quieted to murmurs in Trigedasleng. The sudden silence makes the hair rise on the back of Clarke's neck, particularly when her eyes catch Lexa's. They look like green fire, all determination and energy. Clarke isn't sure if the sudden drop in her chest is anticipation, arousal, fear, or some combination of all three.

When Lexa stands before her, that fire disappears just long enough for Clarke to see a flash of nerves behind her eyes. But then the Commander folds her hands behind her back, lifts her chin, and greets her: "Ambassador."

This close, Clarke can again see more detailing on Lexa's clothing. It's truly incredible, what Elena and her minions are able to do with fabric. From her polished black boots, to the pants that cling seamlessly to her thighs, to the jacket that hugs every valley and curve of her body, it's like the outfit was made for her - and, Clarke is sure, it was. Even the red cape clipped to her shoulder is pristine, fastened in place with an iron brooch forged in the same shape of the flame symbol on her bedroom door. Her hair, down as it normally is but woven into braids so intricate Clarke's eye can barely follow them, has not a single strand out of place. The whole thing invokes an air of deadly beauty - and absolute authority.

"Commander," Clarke nods in acknowledgement. She doesn't even try to hide the brazen way she eyes Lexa up and down. When her eyes finally come back to meet Lexa's, she asks, "Is there something I can do for you?"

"There is." Lexa's jaw tightens momentarily as she swallows hard, takes in a quick, steadying breath. Then she draws one hand from behind her back and holds it out, palm up, to Clarke. "I was hoping that I might have this dance."

Clarke can't help it: her jaw _drops_. Not far, only an inch or so before she quickly closes it again, but her surprise must be obvious. "Are..." Clarke is about to ask if Lexa is sure, if this is the wisest choice...and a quick glance around the crowd confirms that everyone within eyesight is openly staring at them. But the question is just as easily posed to herself - she can't say no, even if there were any part of her that isn't desperate to say yes. "Of course," Clarke breathes as her hand fits, as it has countless times before, into place against Lexa's, "I would love that."

It can be difficult to tell beneath the long fingers of her warpaint, stretching down over her cheekbones in distracting, inky black, but Clarke swears that Lexa blushes the instant Clarke's skin touches hers.

The Commander promptly turns and leads Clarke further into the courtyard's center, as though knowing that if everyone was going to watch anyway, they may as well not even pretend to hide it. The musicians take this as their cue to start playing again and begin a song that is not quite as fast but is no less as lively. As they make their way, Clarke spots many a familiar face in the crowd - Octavia, Titus, Tumnas, her mom - but the face that catches her attention the most is Ronnie's. The Nightblood stands off to one side, simultaneously gobsmacked...and distinctly crestfallen to see her hand in the Commander's. In the brief moment that they make eye contact before Lexa turns and pulls Clarke close, however, Ronnie offers a truly beaming smile.

Clarke's heart aches in that moment, knowing Ronnie is even a little bit disappointed, even in the midst of what could only be a dream. Standing here, in the middle of the tower courtyard in front of everyone, in Lexa's arms...it's the kind of thing she's only ever fantasized about. She's still not quite sure it isn't a dream, but Ronnie's smile snaps her back to reality. It's no secret, really, that Ronnie has a crush on her, but there he is happy as she's ever seen him, an encouraging smile engulfing his face. It's a welcome change from the shock and disbelief - and in some cases, outright disapproval - on most of the other faces she sees, and it puts a smile on her face as Lexa whirls her around.

She catches her easily, one hand on her waist, and just like that they're face to face. There's a fleeting moment in which Clarke wonders if Lexa actually knows how to dance, but that concern is quickly dispelled as Lexa's feet start moving.

"I apologize for springing this on you like I did," Lexa says, just loud enough for Clarke to hear over the music. Other dancers still watch the two of them curiously, but none come close enough to overhear. "I hope this is alright."

"It's far more than alright." Lexa leads Clarke through easy steps, none that take them terribly far apart. The Commander always pulls her back, close enough to wrap her arm halfway around Clarke's waist. "I'm just surprised. I thought you didn't dance."

"Generally, no. I was not lying to you at First Fall - as I am certain the faces around you can attest," Lexa answers, and grins a little at the idea of the shock and outrage alternating across the surrounding watchers. For her part, though, Lexa's eyes do not leave her. "But tonight...I couldn't resist. Even my willpower has its limits, and one such limit is the way you look tonight."

Clarke can feel a blush creep up her neck and into her cheeks, and is confident the warpaint she wears does little to conceal it. "I did get the impression earlier that you might like it," she says, and grins at the slightly embarrassed look on Lexa's face. "It was designed with you in mind, so I'm glad I've lived up to expectations."

"Was it now? For me, specifically?" Lexa grins wider now, an expression she rarely allows herself when wearing the guise of the Commander. "I don't know whether to feel targeted or flattered."

"Both, I think was the idea," Clarke shrugs a little, but her smile is still very much in place. "Though I had no idea you would do this...I still can't quite _believe_ you did this." As Clarke speaks, the hand on Lexa's shoulder slides up. Two of her fingers touch the back of her neck, above the high collar of her jacket, while Clarke's other hand still tucked into Lexa's squeezes even tighter. Despite the surprise and the questionable wisdom of this decision, now that Clarke has Lexa here she has no intention of letting her go.

"It wouldn't be a grand gesture if it was in any way believable," Lexa says with just a hint of bashfulness. Her eyes close as Clarke's fingers delve beneath her hair, and she shivers a little at her touch. "There have been insinuations all evening," she says then, even quieter than before, "about you and I, and many more even before then. To the point where I decided," and now she looks back up at Clarke, "why should I deprive myself, if they are going to speculate anyway?"

A million reasons fly through Clarke's mind. All the explanations and excuses they've given themselves over the past several months for why their relationship has to remain a secret. Most are reasonable, some even dire reasons - but Clarke dismisses all of them. Somehow it feels like, for all the people in the courtyard still staring at them, they're all alone. Just the two of them, dancing on this patch of grass, to music that comes from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"I can't argue with that," is what Clarke says out loud, still quiet enough that no one but Lexa can hear her. "I'd rather live like this for as long as we can, than hide forever."

Lexa's grin becomes a smile, warm and adoring and...just the littlest bit sad. She nods her head and says, "I'm glad you agree."

They come no closer than that. Even as the rest of the world falls away and the temptation to lean in - to kiss her, to hold her, to rest her head on her shoulder - becomes unbearable, they maintain their relative distance from each other. Despite that temptation, just being like this in front of so many eyes is significant enough on its own. In a way, it is more satisfying to leave the moment as it is; certainly Clarke has never grown tired of looking into Lexa's eyes.

"You know," Clarke says, after what feels like a lifetime but is in fact maybe a minute, "I think you may have broken Ronnie's heart. Or I have, courtesy of you."

Lexa's eyebrow arches. "Is that so?" She asks, and glances off to one side in a half-hearted attempt at finding the Nightblood in question. "What makes you say that?"

"I think it's possible that he had a small...crush, on me." Clarke looks up, her eyes squinted in thought. "Do you have that word here? Crush?"

"I suspect I know what you mean," Lexa answers with a chuckle. "He has affections for you that are more than friendly? That would not surprise me at all - he speaks quite highly of you, and often."

"Well, he has good taste." Clarke curls her fingers further into the hair at the nape of Lexa's neck. "I'm sure it helps that his hero is the one who stole me away from him."

She can feel the goosebumps rise on Lexa's skin in response. The Commander's fingers tighten just a little against Clarke's back, as though she's restraining herself from pulling her closer. "I think that may be a bit of an overstatement," she answers, "but if it means he is more likely to forgive me, then I'll take it."

"I don't think it is." Clarke glances over to the spot where Ronnie had been and sure enough, he's still there - but now apparently entertaining other would-be dancers with yet another dramatic story reenactment. He catches her eye and winks, as if he alone will distract the entire courtyard long enough for them to have their dance. The thought makes Clarke simultaneously smile and roll her eyes.

When she returns her attention to Lexa she finds the Commander's green eyes watching her, a thoughtful look reflected in them. She doesn't say anything for a moment, but just as Clarke opens her mouth to ask what's on her mind, Lexa says, "Would you like to come to my room later?"

Clarke isn't one to feel embarrassed, and is even less often at a loss for words - but now both happen simultaneously. Her face warms and she opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Suddenly embarrassed again, this time for being embarrassed in the first place when she used to spend nearly every night in Lexa's room and this is truly not an odd request, and yet it is because Lexa has never made it and now she is, in front of hundreds of people...

Clarke clears her throat and tries again. "Yes, of course I would. Are you sure? That you're okay with that?"

"I am," Lexa nods, and there isn't so much as a waver in her voice. "It would still be wise to at least make an attempt at discretion, but even if someone notices it will only confirm what many already suspect. And _Azgeda_ has already attempted to take you from me once."

"All the more reason to spend the night with you," Clarke says far more nonchalantly than she feels. "I can't think of a safer place to be than the Commander's bed." 

The music shifts, signaling the end of the tune. Clarke is loath to let Lexa go, and even as she considers it her grip on the Commander tightens. "I'm yours, Lexa," she all but whispers, aware that even at a distance the surrounding crowd can and are likely attempting to read their lips. "No matter what they do, no one can change that. Not even _Azgeda_."

They come to a stop, the fabric of Clarke's skirt swishing against her calves and against Lexa's shins. Without the shielding of movement or music, there is no question that their conversation has become much more accessible to others than it had been. And so Lexa says only, " _Ai Etwai_ ," and presses her fist to her heart. She inclines her head to complete the salute, and then turns into the crowd and is gone again. For now, anyway.

Clarke is left standing there, somewhat dumbfounded, for about four seconds before Octavia and Bellamy appear at her side. "Um..." Octavia says, a look that distinctly says 'what the hell was that' on her face, at the same time that Bellamy says, "So about the whole secret thing...?"

"Shhh, shut up!" Clarke hisses and grabs both their arms. "Just, come here," and she leads them away from the crowd, back toward the drinks table. When Clarke catches sight of the rows of kegs, she saunters right up to the currently unoccupied attendant, Blake siblings in tow, and says to him in Trigedasleng, " _I know you have whiskey back there. I would be very grateful if you poured some in a cup for me._ "

The attendant, who was likely too far away - or otherwise too busy - to see her dancing with the Commander of the Twelve Clans, gives her a suspicious look. But then they turn and do as she's asked, and return with a wooden cup filled with a dram of the dark liquor.

" _Thank you,_ " Clarke says, and immediately downs it. She puts the cup down on the table and slides it back to them with a nod before turning to the Blakes. "Okay, yes, get it all out."

"What the hell?" is the first thing out of Octavia's mouth. 

"Did you plan to do that?" Bellamy asks.

"With the _Commander??"_

"I thought you were trying to be discrete."

"Are you _insane??"_

"I did not plan to do that, and I was _trying_ to be discrete!" Clarke grabs the closest mug of ale and takes a large sip. "What was I supposed to do? If the Commander of the Twelve Clans asks you to dance, you dance with her." A quick scan of the people closest to them makes Clarke frown. "Where's Raven? I would've thought she'd be yelling at me along with the two of you."

"I'm sure she would be, if she wasn't with her own Romeo," Bellamy says, and steps back to indicate a corner of the courtyard.

There, at the edge of the dancing group, is Raven. There is uncertainty in her body language and her brace limits her ability to participate in the faster dance that is now starting, but she's grinning ear to ear. Helena is utterly unwilling to accept that Raven can't dance, it seems, because even as Raven attempts to excuse herself, the _Floukru_ chieftain catches her by the tie around her neck and pulls her closer to her. Raven answers the tug and ends up with her hands on Helena's hips, their faces closer than Clarke has ever seen.

" _But Lincoln couldn't come,_ " Octavia says in a mocking voice, and pulls a face in the pair's direction.

Clarke can't help but smile at them. She's not sure what she's more pleased by, Helena's obvious and genuine excitement about someone or the goofy, adoring grin that Clarke has never seen on her best friend before. "I'm glad they're happy. And Raven looks great in that shirt and tie, who knew?"

Bellamy snorts. "Helena knew."

Octavia turns back to Clarke, her eyebrow raised. "Can we get back to your own self-sabotage now?"

It's another several minutes before she can escape the scrutiny of the Blakes, but theirs are not the only questions she faces that evening. She reconvenes with Abby and Kane some time later to discuss the evening's events, and inevitably gets more questions there. Indra doesn't exactly approach Clarke, but she regards her - and Lexa, whenever Clarke catches her looking at the Commander - with a stormy expression for the rest of the night. Even Tumnas, now well into his cups, deigns to talk to her now in the hopes of getting some information out of her. Luckily, Leif and Jada are near enough to notice and they intervene before he can keep her too long.

As before, Lexa retires early from the party and makes a round of goodbyes before doing so. There are many more eyes on them when she says goodbye to Clarke than there were at the First Fall, but there's no secret wink or handshake given between them; a professional goodbye between Commander and Ambassador, and then on to the next. Once she is gone Clarke falls back into the party for a time, convincing Bellamy to dance with her and, when he proves less than adept at learning the steps, turning to Ronnie instead.

The Nightbloods have mostly been keeping to themselves, but when Clarke asks Ronnie to dance he's quick to lead her into the middle of the throng of dancers. He seems his usual self, smiling and laughing and very much at home among the festivities. The subject of Clarke and Lexa's dance earlier in the evening never comes up, for which Clarke finds herself feeling almost grateful. As much as she loves Ronnie, she's relieved that he doesn't seem to need an explanation for why she 'picked' Lexa over him.

Eventually, after a few more hours and more than a few more drinks, Clarke's friends declare that they're taking the party upstairs. Or rather, Helena declares it, and all of _Skaikru_ follows (aside from Abby and Kane, of course, who are still somehow able to talk politics). They make a boisterous and rowdy group, half walking and half stumbling through the elevator and many flights of stairs up to their floor. Any hope Clarke had of making a quiet entrance back into the tower is dashed the moment they all step inside, especially considering they are apparently not the only people to have had this idea; they pass several other groups of party goers as they make their way up, most containing at least some ambassadors and delegates. But still she pauses on the landing to Lexa's floor. They've essentially announced their relationship to the entire Coalition - or at least confirmed their suspicions, whatever they might be. Does she really have to keep sneaking around?

Helena breaks off refereeing a debate between Bellamy and Raven to turn and look at Clarke, a question obviously on her lips. It doesn't take her long to deduce for herself what's on Clarke's mind, however, and so the question dies before it's asked; instead Helena smiles, winks, and returns to shepherding the others.

"Okay everyone, into Clarke's room! She's got the most space, and the most booze."

Clarke rolls her eyes at the clear lie - she does not have any more room than anyone else, and Helena surely has more booze than she does. Which is to say, any really. But still she offers Helena a grateful smile and slips around the corner toward Lexa's room, avoiding the eyes of her friends and, she's almost sure, the eyes of anyone else.

When she arrives at Lexa's door she doesn't bother knocking. The handle turns under her palm and she steps in to find the Commander, her festival outfit intact except for the cape now draped over the back of a chair, standing before the fire with one hand up on the mantle. She turns at the sound of the door and smiles upon seeing her. "Clarke."

Clarke closes the door behind her and then...she isn't sure. It's a rare feeling, particularly around Lexa - maybe it's the clothes they're wearing, or the fact that suddenly their relationship is public knowledge, or maybe it's just the way Lexa is looking at her, like Clarke is the most amazing thing she's ever seen and nothing else exists in the world. Whatever the reason, Clarke doesn't immediately move into Lexa's space. Instead she walks past the table, grabbing a full cup of wine as she goes that Lexa had apparently poured and then left for her, and leans against the opposite side of the mantle.

"I'm sorry it's so late. Took a while to get away."

"With popularity like yours, I don't doubt it," Lexa says with a grin. She angles her body to face Clarke, leaning sideways against the side of the fireplace with one hand clasped over the opposite wrist. "I imagine everyone wanted to speak with you."

"Certainly after that dance they did," Clarke chuckles. She sips from the cup in her hand, but her eyes never leave Lexa's. "What did you tell people, anyway? When they asked why you chose to dance with me? I can think of a few people who wouldn't have been too shy to ask."

Lexa lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "I told them that I owed you one."

"Is that really why?" Clarke tilts her head to the side, watching Lexa. She isn't sure what she's looking for, just...something. Some reassurance that Lexa understands the gravity of this. "I don't know why I'm asking really, even if you'd told me ahead of time I wouldn't have had it in me to ask you not to. But the vote tomorrow...this could change things. It _will_ change things. You know that, right?"

Lexa inclines her head. "I do. But it will not be by much. Cole has ensured that any who would be angry about us already believes it to be true."

"Yes, but not all of our allies knew about us." Clarke sighs and swirls the contents of her cup absently, recalling the look on Indra's face. "We'll have to talk with them tomorrow. Answer their questions, make sure we can still count on their support."

The Commander looks at her in silence for a moment, then pushes away from the wall and crosses to her. Gently, she takes the cup from Clarke's hands and places it on the mantle. Then, cupping Clarke's face between her hands, she looks from one eye to the other as she says, "We can concern ourselves with that come morning. Can we just have tonight?"

Clarke is as surprised by that uncharacteristic request as she is utterly powerless to deny it. She immediately relaxes beneath Lexa's touch and leans farther into her. "Of course we can." Her right hand fingers the buttons and steel accents of the opening to Lexa's jacket. "I love this, by the way. You look...I don't know. Dashing, maybe, though that doesn't seem to quite do it justice."

With a grin and a hum, Lexa leans in to kiss her gently. "If it doesn't, it at least makes me sound like a character in a story about knights and monsters," she chuckles. She drops her hands, and uses one to catch Clarke's free hand. Taking a step back, she lifts Clarke's arm above her head and urges her into a twirl. "Which...I believe, makes you my princess. Or perhaps a star, fallen to earth."

"You know, I've never liked that title," as Clarke completes the turn on her toes, she falls back against Lexa, both hands pressed against her chest as the Commander readily wraps her arms around Clarke's middle. "But somehow it sounds much better when you say it."

"Because I'm not teasing you, perhaps?" Lexa grins. She touches her forehead to Clarke's while one hand runs a slow path up Clarke's back, fingers splayed as though to touch as much of her as possible. "You certainly do look the part tonight, my love."

"Well, it would have been worth it only for you," Clarke's hands move up Lexa's chest and shoulders, taking her time until they make it up her neck and tangle in the back of her hair, "but it turns out I was on the Commander's arm tonight. A good thing I brought my A game."

"I think you may have put the effect before the cause there," Lexa chuckles. "Do you have any idea how infuriating it was to have you, in all this radiance, so far away? It was torture to not be at liberty to touch you - let alone have a dozen yards between us. It soon became too much, even for me."

"If I'd known all it would take is a dress, I would have worn one ages ago." Clarke glances down at the generous cutout at the front of her dress and then back up at Lexa. "Though I imagine it isn't just the dress that got your attention."

Lexa apparently can't help but follow Clarke's eyes down; she looks back up to find the Commander's gaze lingering there. Lexa's jaw tightens as she gulps. "I would be lying if I said that did not add to the effect, yes."

"That might have been the idea." Clarke is barely able to hold back a grin, but opts for pulling Lexa's lips to hers instead. Her fingers curl around Lexa's hair and grasp at the nape of her neck, not aggressive but insistent.

A sound - of relief, of yearning, of desperation, of a dozen things at once - escapes Lexa as she does, and it sends goosebumps running across her skin. Without breaking the kiss, Lexa presses her body to Clarke's and pivots, pinning Clarke back against the wall beside the fireplace. 

"I may have to bring my 'A game' next time," she says, the words rumbling with a growl deep in her chest.

Clarke's breath leaves in a rush as her bare shoulders meet the cold wood behind her. "Don't sell yourself short," she says through a gasp of air, even as her hands slide around Lexa's hips to her ass. She uses the leverage to pull Lexa even closer, their bodies flush from hips to chests. "I think I might request you wear these pants regularly," Clarke whispers against Lexa's lips, a small smile pulling her own up slightly.

The force of the tug upsets Lexa's balance, just enough to send the Commander's elbow flying up to catch herself on the portion of wall beside Clarke's head. The leather leggings she wears don't give much beneath Clarke's hands, but they absolutely do allow her to feel Lexa's muscles tighten in response to the shift in her weight. 

" _If that is what you wish, My Star,_ " she breathes in Trigedasleng, all heady and hungry, and she kisses Clarke again.

Clarke can't get her hands between them without pushing Lexa away, which is absolutely the last thing on her mind - so instead she slips her hands beneath the fabric of Lexa's clothes where she can. One rests half underneath and half above the waistband of her pants at the small of her back, while the other roams up beneath her jacket and along her spine.

Lexa's kisses are relentless. It's all Clarke can do to catch her breath in the few moments the Commander gives her to breathe, and even that isn't really enough. Especially combined with Lexa's body half-leaning against her own, pinning her tightly against the wall. It all creates a distinct lack of air but somehow it feels like the opposite of a problem. In fact, if Clarke were capable of coherent thought at all in this moment, she would say it adds to the surge of desire coursing through her.

As does the moving pressure of Lexa's free hand. There is strength in the Commander's fingers, and she makes full use of it as she grabs at Clarke's thigh, at her ass, as she runs her hand up and down Clarke's side or sweeps her thumb under Clarke’s breast. Every movement is just a little desperate, and seems to grow more so as Clarke's skin remains hidden from her.

Which is perhaps why Lexa does eventually pull away, her cheeks red and warpaint now a little smeared, to look at Clarke with that same determined fire behind her eyes that made her stomach flip in the courtyard. She takes Clarke's hands and loops her arms around her shoulders, and then - before Clarke can say or do anything - sweeps her up and into her arms.

If Clarke weren't so breathless, she would exclaim in surprise - certainly she _feels_ surprised. But all that leaves her throat is a sharp gasp. She wraps her other arm around Lexa's neck, at first out of instinct and then again uses the leverage to bring Lexa's mouth back to hers. "Okay," she mutters, not even bothering to fully break the kiss as she does, "that was impressive."

"If all I had to do to get that is pick you up," Lexa grins, knowing full well that this is not the first time this has happened, "I would have done it sooner."

A pile of books gets kicked over as the Commander half-blindly steps around the table and chairs, but she doesn't stumble. Once in the bedroom she hugs Clarke to her and spins, laughing breathlessly against Clarke's lips, before carefully laying her down on the bed. She doesn't join her immediately, instead taking a moment to drink her in with adoration shining bright in her green eyes.

Clarke props herself up on her elbows as Lexa stands there, but whatever she was going to say dies in her throat as they lock eyes.

There have been many times when they're alone that Lexa has looked at her in that way that she does: like there's nothing else in the world but the two of them, like their love alone could overcome any obstacle thrown their way. It's a fierce kind of love, soft and intense at the same time, and each time Lexa looks at her that way Clarke's stomach feels like it turns inside out. 

But this is different. First of all, Lexa is _smiling_. An unreserved, unapologetic smile that makes the darker green flecks in her eyes seem to dance. There's no edge of sadness, no subtle indication that her mind is elsewhere - if anything, she looks happy enough to laugh. Clarke has never seen the expression on Lexa's face before, much less directed at her, and the result is breathtaking.

"I..." Clarke's voice sounds far more hoarse than it should, and she clears her throat. "Much as I love that," and she raises a finger to vaguely point toward Lexa's jacket, "I think it might get in my way."

"Is that so?" Lexa asks, raising an eyebrow. But she straightens up and obliges, both hands working each of the buttons back through their holes; there is an additional tie on the inside of the jacket that she loosens, and then its overlapping front panels fall open to reveal a fitted sleeveless shirt beneath. Lexa's eyes don't leave Clarke's as she takes either side and pulls the jacket back and off her shoulders.

The juxtaposition of Lexa's war paint and helm of awe and the tight, feminine shirt she wears is striking. Clarke's eyes rake over her body, from her biceps and shoulders down to the abdominal muscles she can see working beneath her shirt as Lexa slips out of her jacket. 

Clarke hooks two fingers beneath the waistband of Lexa's pants and tugs her forward, not forcefully but not gently either. "Come here," she whispers.

The Commander catches her jacket by the collar and tosses it aside onto a chest. Then, putting one foot on the bed frame, she lifts herself up onto the bed and over Clarke's hips. Straddling her, Lexa balances herself against the headboard with one hand and leans down, hair falling over her shoulders in its net of braids to curtain both of them. 

" _Sha, Ai Etwai,_ " she breathes just before kissing her.

Lexa's shirt doesn't last long, as only a few moments of kissing pass before Clarke finds herself annoyed by it and pulls it up and over her head. As she ducks out of the neck of it Lexa grins again, and sits up to toss it on the floor. Doing so affords Clarke a satisfying look at the expanse of her newly bared torso, the outline of toned muscle and dark, black ink of tattoos that have become so familiar and yet still do _things_ to Clarke when she sees them. Not that the Commander seems to notice any of this attention before coming back for another kiss.

She lavishes them down Clarke's jaw, lingering on her ear before skipping over the high collar of her dress. "Talk about being in the way," Lexa says lowly, teasingly. She's hardly stymied though, as she turns her attention to the skin exposed by the dress's cut out instead.

Unlike other nights where alcohol has served to make her performance more difficult, it appears to have the opposite effect on Clarke now. Her skin feels like it's on _fire_. Every small movement of Lexa's hands, each time her lips and teeth touch Clarke's skin leaves trailing swaths of fried nerves.

Clarke isn't sure whether she'd rather tear her own dress off or pull Lexa back against her, every possible inch of them touching. Not that she's given much of a choice - even as her fingers remain gentle, Lexa's arms are solid and hold Clarke in place. She gets tantalizingly, agonizingly close to her nipples several times, but the dress was designed to keep her breasts in place and it's not giving in now. Lexa doesn't seem terribly bothered, but so much contact without release becomes increasingly frustrating for Clarke.

After the third or fourth increasingly frustrated groan - now bordering on growl - Lexa looks up.

"Is there something you would like, my love?" she hums.

In answer, Clarke takes the small window of opportunity the question presents her with - Lexa is still holding her, but her grip relaxes as she speaks. Clarke takes Lexa's head in her hands and pulls her back, at the same time sitting up slightly to meet her. Their lips crash together, hard enough that Clarke can feel one of Lexa's canines cut her lip. The sudden movement puts Lexa off balance and it's all she can do to reorient her body to conform to Clarke's, particularly as Clarke bends her knee to the best of her ability, effectively trapping Lexa where she is. If the Commander has any objections, they quickly turn into a moan as Clarke deepens the kiss.

" _Fok,_ " Lexa gasps when they part, the word barely getting out of her mouth before Clarke captures it again.

A not-terribly-subtle grind of her hips tells Clarke all she needs to know about where Lexa's at; there isn't much friction to be had with her pelvis against Clarke's stomach, but that doesn't stop Lexa from trying. After catching herself doing this for the third time, Lexa tries to pull back - only to be stopped by Clarke before she can get far. She tries again a moment later, but to no avail. When she makes a third attempt however, a hand on Clarke's throat allows her to create the space she needs to sit up and catch her breath.

Lexa's fingers around her neck are not harsh, and the fact that Clarke is gasping for air has nothing to do with pressure on her trachea. Instead, the Commander's middle finger and thumb press down just a little on the pulse points at either side of Clarke's neck - not enough to create discomfort, but enough to stop her from surging upwards again.

"You're going to make me ruin your dress," Lexa says. The fingers of her face paint are now thoroughly smudged, and Clarke is certain that no small amount of it now stains her own face and hands.

"I wore it for you," Clarke pants. Lexa presses down hardly at all on her neck, clearly only there to stop her from moving if she tried, but still she can feel the skin over her throat press upwards against her hand as Clarke gulps in deep breaths. "Do what you want with it."

"Well," Lexa says, and grins. Unlike the others, this grin has a wickedness to it that stirs something in the depths of Clarke. "As long as I have permission."

With her hand still on Clarke's neck, Lexa leans down to kiss her a few more times before she swings her leg back over Clarke's body, and stands. She climbs back on the bed at Clarke's feet and, while maintaining eye contact, wraps her fingers around Clarke's ankles, pressing lightly into the hollow behind the bone. Urging Clarke to bend her legs, Lexa's hands then begin a smooth path up her calves, across the back of her knees, and further up the outside of her thighs, taking the skirt of her dress up with them.

Clarke doesn’t have anything to do with her hands, now unable to reach Lexa who clearly needs no assistance. So instead, without so much as glancing away from Lexa’s searing gaze she reaches both arms back behind her head until her nails scratch the headboard. Her fingers curl around the edge of Lexa’s mattress, gripping more tightly with every inch of skin Lexa exposes as she slowly hikes up her dress.

It's clear that seeing her like that, arms stretched out, chest heaving, the beads on her dress glinting like fire in the candlelight, _does_ something to the Commander. Her breath starts coming faster even though there are no kisses to steal it, and her eyes dilate. When at last the skirt is up around Clarke's thighs, she pulls off her underwear and immediately parts Clarke with her tongue. But even this seems incapable of sating her, because no sooner do Clarke's hips start to move back against her does Lexa lift herself up. Her tongue is replaced by her fingers as she loops an arm behind Clarke's neck and bends to kiss her.

The combination of fingers pressed against her and the taste of her own arousal on Lexa's tongue elicits a groan from Clarke. Her fingers tighten their grip to the point of strain on the mattress above her. Lexa's hand behind her neck forces Clarke's head to tilt back, making it impossible for her to see any of Lexa's movements. Not that she would be paying too much attention in any case - her mind is blank, void of thought, filled with cresting waves of feeling that dominate anything and everything else.

Despite the late winter air still lingering outside, heat threatens to overwhelm Clarke's senses. The dress she wears isn't particularly thick, but was meant to keep her as warm as a sleeveless dress possibly could, and both their bodies are warm to the touch. Clarke can feel sweat forming between her breasts, now pressed up against Lexa's chest, and can taste it on Lexa's lips and skin. Oddly though, the heat has the opposite effect that it might under other circumstances - Clarke finds herself pressing up against Lexa, molding her body to hers in an attempt to keep them as close as physically possible.

When Lexa's fingers enter her, it is with the rhythm of their pressing bodies. Lexa's hips press forward and Clarke's rise to meet them, and Lexa's fingers are guided and pushed between them. She presses deep with one, and then two, as her tongue flicks against the back of Clarke's teeth, swallowing her moan down and adding gasps of Lexa's own. Her calloused palm presses against Clarke's clit as her hips continue to move in rhythm, somehow managing to push her just a little deeper every time.

With one particularly deep thrust, Lexa's fingers curled to press against the back of Clarke's already sensitive clit, Clarke's grip on the mattress gives out. Her hands grasp at Lexa's shoulders and the back of her neck, pulling the Commander even more tightly against her as she moans directly into her mouth. "Fuck, Lexa..." is all Clarke is able to get out before her ability to resist finally gives out.

An orgasm wracks through her body, forcing her muscles taught and clenched against Lexa's frame. It's a miracle she's still able to move, let alone prolong Clarke's orgasm, but Lexa's pace never lets up. Somewhere in the back of Clarke's mind, she knows that she should be quiet - even more than usual, people may be listening. But she can't stop a cry from ripping from her throat, even as it's quickly cut off by Lexa's mouth and turns into a whimper as the Commander brings her down slowly.

Panting, covered in sweat, and pink faced, the Commander lifts her head only once Clarke has stopped convulsing. With hair plastered to her forehead she grins at Clarke, her eyes bright, and carefully pulls her fingers back.

"I could listen to you do that all night," she says, her voice low in her chest as she casually pops her fingers into her mouth.

"Not that I'm opposed," Clarke whispers, breathless, "but you may have to give me a few minutes." 

Her arms are now loosely wrapped around Lexa, but still she keeps her close — not that Lexa seems in any great hurry to move. Her face is shiny with sweat and smeared paint, which Clarke wipes away from her nose with a chuckle. "This proved a little messy," she moves the finger now covered in black down to Lexa's collarbone and draws a small, crude star on her skin. "Though I don't dislike it."

"A slight miscalculation on my part," Lexa admits with a chuckle, brushing her thumb over a spot on Clarke's cheek that she's sure is covered in the stuff; she can feel the pull of it on her skin. Lexa's eyes move over her face, from chin to lips to eyes to hair - and lets out a surprised laugh. With careful fingers she pulls at something stuck to Clarke's hairline that she suspects at first to be clumped paint, but is quickly revealed to be her helm of awe. She holds it between finger and thumb to show it to Clarke. "Oops."

Clarke laughs and takes it gently from her fingers. It's harder than she realized, and heavier. How it stays on Lexa's forehead at all seems like a mystery, but then again she's seen Elena's skills with makeup and paint and doesn't doubt the handmaid-cum-spymaster would've come up with something ingenious. 

Lexa watches as Clarke maneuvers the metal gear with her fingers, seemingly unconcerned at someone other than the Commander being so close to it. Or wearing it, for that matter.

The Commander takes the opportunity to shift more of her weight off of Clarke, and balances it on her hip beside her. She draws her fingers lightly up and down the outside of Clarke's thigh as she watches her study it. "You've never held it before, have you?" she asks quietly - and sounds like this is as much of a revelation to her as the weight of it is to Clarke.

"No, of course not. When would I have held it?" Clarke's tone isn't belittling, only wondering aloud. The weight of it, both physically and symbolically, begins to make her uncomfortable. She fidgets with it in her hand, and for a moment has the rash desire to throw it across the room. Hopefully it will get lost between the floorboards or Pip will snatch it up and stash it away, never to be seen again.

It's a petty, almost naive thought. As if the lack of something so small, something so ultimately meaningless without the woman wearing it, would do anything to free them from the constraints of their positions. Instead she sighs as her fingers close around it, only long enough to reach over and place it on the side table closest to her. "I prefer you without it," she says as she turns back into Lexa's arms.

Lexa's expression falls somewhat, the sobering thought taking the smile from her face. But she nods, and her eyes are sympathetic. She made her oath to Clarke as herself, and neither of them have any doubt that she intends to keep it. But the Commander can never be fully hers, and they both know that, too.

"Then leave it," she says, and closes both of her arms around Clarke. She rolls onto her back and pulls Clarke with her, tucking her head under her chin. "It has no place here."

The truth of that sentiment fades with the nighttime sky. When dawn arrives Lexa wakes Clarke with soft, scattered kisses across her face and neck, and together they prepare for the day they have both been anticipating for weeks. The prospect of what is to come is enough to set Clarke's nerves on edge, her stomach unsettled by it and appetite entirely absent. Lexa seems similarly perturbed, as she dresses in the trappings of the Commander in distant silence. At one point, Clarke catches her staring at her own reflection, and the glint of the helm of awe on her forehead in the light of the rising sun. 

"Clarke," she says then, without looking away. There's something wrong with her voice, something that immediately sends Clarke's anxiety spiking above and beyond where it already is. Lexa's jaw tightens as she swallows and she says, "Do you have a moment?"

Clarke frowns, even as she loses her balance and fumbles slightly with her boot before yanking it all the way on. She hadn't been quite as efficient as Lexa in getting ready, but she's nearly there - enough to pause what she's doing and wait for Lexa to turn from the mirror and look at her. "What's wrong?" she asks, foregoing any attempt to skirt the issue. There's nothing like seeing Lexa in pain that sends fear and adrenaline racing through Clarke's veins, and the Commander's eyes are full of it as they meet her own.

"There was an update last night, during the festival. I did not want to ruin the night with it at the time, but you should be prepared." Lexa takes in a slow breath, and folds her hands behind her back. "Roan is traveling with the _Azgedan_ delegation. The initial report was wrong. He is not traveling with the delegation proper, as we had suspected, but was disguised as a member of the guard. My scouts did not recognize him, but after sending a _Fleimkepa_ with them it has been confirmed."

At the mention of Roan's name, Clarke pauses in her efforts to pull on her other boot. It takes her several seconds to process this news, as well as filter out the dozens of less pressing questions, first and foremost of which is to demand why Lexa waited until now to inform her. But she forces them all down, forces herself to focus on the issue at hand. As far as she can tell, this changes nothing aside from the effect his presence may have on her, and she says as much. "He's an asshole, and I'm not shaking his hand, but I doubt his presence will change the outcome today," she punctuates her point with a tug on the front of her jacket, adjusting it around her shoulders the way she likes. "Are you concerned that he'll have time to rally the other chiefs to _Azgeda's_ cause before the vote?"

"No, I am not." The tone of that answer does not allow it to bring the reassurance it probably should have. "But Clarke...I think I know what she is planning to do. And I think we were wrong."

Clarke doesn't have time to react to that, and Lexa doesn't have time to continue; before she can so much as open her mouth again there is a knock on the door, and Elena enters without waiting for an answer.

"Apologies, Commander--"

"Not now, Elena," Lexa interrupts sharply, but the handmaid will not be deterred.

" _Apologies, Commander,_ " she says again, measuredly but urgently, "but it cannot wait. _Azgeda_ is here."

"I will be down in time to receive them," the Commander answers, her irritation on full display. 

"They are _here,_ _Heda,_ " Elena emphasizes. "The Queen and her attaches broke off from the main delegation during the early hours of the morning, and have arrived. They are being shown to their rooms as we speak, and have requested an audience with you and the chiefs in the throne room."

Clarke closes her eyes and shakes her head, as if that will clear up all the confusion, new information, and plotting her brain is being asked to organize. When she opens her eyes again, it’s to meet Lexa’s - who looks at her with so much sadness and regret that it takes Clarke’s breath away.

“How long?” is what she ultimately asks, sweeping her attention back to Elena and the immediate task at hand.

Elena looks like she's at a loss. She puts her hands up in a shrug and shakes her head as she says, "If you want to be there before them, then as soon as possible, I would imagine."

"Then summon the chiefs," Lexa answers. "I have no doubt many will respond to her invitation whether or not we call for them, so we may as well get out ahead of her." 

Elena inclines her head and turns to do just that, and Lexa moves to follow her. She stops in front of Clarke, however, those eyes searching Clarke's face for who knows what. Then she lifts a hand to Clarke's cheek and pulls her in to press a firm, urgent kiss to her lips. "I'm so sorry, Clarke," she says against her lips, and turns to go.

It takes Clarke only a few moments to process Lexa's tone - to get the information from her brain to her limbs that informs them to move: to pull Lexa back, to keep her here until she can explain herself, fallout be damned. But in those few moments, Lexa is already halfway through the door and by the time Clarke reaches her they're in the hallway - and looking at several familiar faces including Jada, a harried and disgruntled looking Bellamy and Octavia, and her mother.

"Is this it?" Bellamy asks, falling into step beside her as they all follow the Commander down the hall.

"I hope so. It might be," Clarke tells him, loud enough for Octavia and her mother to hear but not so loud that passersby might. " _Azgeda_ arrived early in secret, and with Roan, all of which is... unexpected. I'm not sure what's happening." Anger twinges that last admission, at Lexa for keeping something from her - again. She can feel Abby's eyes on her, particularly after she mentions Roan, and Clarke attempts to modulate her tone. "The Commander seems to have some idea. I'll be as surprised as you, apparently."

Jada looks particularly distressed by this, but she says nothing. The group remains in silence until they arrive at the throne room. 


	17. Yu Gonplei Nou Ste Odon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This chapter has a very specific trigger warning.
> 
> The events of 307 left a lot of us in the fandom - Clexakru and otherwise - in a pretty bad way. Many of us had our anxiety, depression, and worse triggered by the one specific event in that one specific episode.
> 
> If you were triggered then, and you believe you could be triggered by it again, please do not read the end of this chapter. Just read through the scene in the library, and then rejoin us for the start of Part 3.
> 
> If you do choose to read through the end of the chapter, I hope that we've done enough to earn your confidence. Absolutely nobody dies in our fic. We will not betray your trust the way Jason did.
> 
> Either way, we plan to begin posting Part 3 three weeks from now, on December 30th. If you want to be sure to get the notification for that, be sure to subscribe to the What We Deserve series or to one of us authors - and who knows? You might get a little surprise somewhere in between.

The room isn't set up to receive them, which is as to be expected given the immediacy of the plans that morning. A few of the chiefs already linger along the perimeter of it, partially blocking the door and quickly scattering when Lexa arrives. She storms clear through them, her cape sweeping behind her, and takes a seat on her throne; Titus is already there, standing at her right hand, and he stoops to say something to her that Clarke cannot hear even though the room is quiet. Some of the chiefs - including Tumnas - appear to be nursing the result of last night's festivities, and therefore don't engage in conversation. Everyone else seems to fall silent under the weight of nervous anticipation.

Clarke follows her mother to the far side of the room. Abby places herself as close to Lexa as she could reasonably be without stepping up next to her throne, for which Clarke is grateful. Bellamy and Octavia flank them on either side wordlessly, both siblings clearly alert and on guard. Jada stands to their side and whispers quietly to Lief. Clarke wonders where Helena and Indra are, and the moment the question enters her mind the former throws open the doors as she enters the throne room.

Helena is visibly harried, the early wake up call clearly something neither expected nor welcomed. Her hair, a mess of untended curls, is tied back out of her eyes and her dress is simple, clearly an item of utility rather than appearance. She looks first to the throne, where Lexa catches her eye and gives her a very subtle shake of her head. Then, looking even more perturbed than she had a moment ago, Helena crosses the room to where Clarke stands by her ambassador, who steps forward to meet her. Following a few minutes later - their staggered entrance likely purposeful - is Raven.

"What's happened?" Helena asks, eyes moving between Jada and Clarke. " _Azgeda_ is here?"

"Nia arrived barely an hour ago, ahead of the rest of their delegation," Jada confirms with a nod. Helena looks at Clarke.

"Did she know about this?"

"The timing is a surprise, but she knows something." Clarke glances up at Lexa, now whispering with Titus in hushed, aggravated tones. "She was informed last night that Roan is with them."

"Of- _f_ _ucking_ -course she was," Helena growls, and falls in beside Jada.

The room is soon full of chieftains and ambassadors, all waiting for something but none seem to know what. Lexa isn't wearing her sword, but she sits with a Damascus steel knife in one hand as she speaks in low tones with Titus. Even that hushed conversation falls completely silent as the doors burst open beneath the hands of two armored warriors, the white hand of the Ice Nation painted across their cuirasses.

Nia is in full raiment, as is to be expected, but she has foregone the radiant white and crystal that she wore for much of First Fall. Today her dress is pitch black, offsetting the bright spray of her hair across her shoulders, and she wears riding leathers beneath its asymmetrical skirt. Both shoulders bear the weight of matching leather pauldrons, their black expanse dotted with steel studs. Behind her, Cole follows in similar garb, and stops a few steps behind where she comes to stand directly before Lexa.

" _Heda Leksa,_ " she says without preamble, a cool, haughty smile on her face. She eyes the dagger in Lexa's hand, which the Commander now rests point-down against the arm of her throne. " _Such a warm welcome you offer us._ "

"You come to my city with armed guards and in the dead of night, like a thief," Lexa answers sharply in English. "A naked blade is the least you deserve."

It takes Clarke no more than a second to identify Roan, disguised as a guard to Nia's right. He's several feet in front of her and there is another guard between them, but his eyes find her instantly - and a wicked grin breaks out across his face.

The full weight of the situation finally hits Clarke like so many tons of bricks. Roan is here, in this throne room, with Nia...if this is not coming to a vote, then she must have some other plan to supplant Lexa. And there he is, smiling like he's waited years but has finally won the fucking lottery. Clarke doesn't know what's about to happen, but she gets the gist. Nia has Roan, and she plans to replace Lexa with him.

"I suppose I should be glad it isn't a sword, then," Nia answers with a venomous smirk. She turns to look at the rest of the room. "I see everyone is here, at least. Thank you for doing me that kind--"

" _Pitta patta, Azgeda_." The tone of the words is a warning, as is the look in Lexa's eyes: don't waste my time.

"Hm." Nia's eyes return to Lexa, whom she considers for a moment. Then she steps forward. "Very well."

She turns to look at the rest of the gathered chieftains, who have now filtered their way to the front of the audience. They watch her with varying amounts of suspicion and anticipation; Ilian's face in particular, visible over Madi's head, catches Clarke's eye with its satisfied expression, bordering on excitement.

"I have come to inform you all that the rule of our dear Commander, _Leksa kom Trikru,_ " Nia begins - in the pause that follows, the room collectively holds its breath - "is illegitimate."

The room bursts into rapid chatter, sounds of outrage and shock running over each other as the bodies once still now come to life. Nia must raise her voice to be heard over it; through it all, Lexa watches with the same stoic expression on her face, unchanging as though it had been carved from stone.

"As we all know, the Commander can only ascend to take the Flame when they have completed their Conclave," Nia says, but the noise in the room doesn't quiet. "And the Conclave is not completed until all other Nightbloods have been killed. The rule of _Leksa kom Trikru_ has been based on a lie. She would have you believe that she is the last living member of her Conclave, but she is not."

Clarke's body moves of its own volition. She takes a step toward Roan, fire in her eyes, with the intention of doing...she doesn't quite know what. Something violent, ideally. But her mother's fingers wrap around her arm and hold her back tightly. Clarke is unable to control her feelings and the full fury she's experiencing shines through as she meets her mother's eyes - but Abby merely shakes her head, her expression measured as ever. It helps to calm Clarke, to see her mother so in control. At least, enough that she's able to pay attention to what comes next.

The room doesn't take notice of the interaction, as the general commotion makes Clarke's sudden surge all but invisible. Even Helena, standing so close to her, is too consumed by her own rage to have noticed.

"This is a serious accusation you're throwing around here," Helena shouts, drawing all eyes in the room to her - including Lexa's and Titus'. The former's expression remains unchanged, but Titus' falls as his eyes drop to the ground. "You have any proof to back it up?"

Nia turns on Helena with a smile as cold and bright as ice. "I'm so glad you asked, _Floukru_."

She beckons with one hand toward Roan, who with one last superior look at Clarke steps forward and removes his helmet.

"This is _Roan kom Azgeda,_ " she says, "My heir, and the last living member of _Leksa kom Trikru's_ conclave."

" _Roan kom Azgeda_ died," Indra says, frowning at the man in question. "He was killed in the second trial."

"On the contrary," Roan says, and draws a knife. Everyone in the room takes a sharp step back, but he turns the weapon on himself. With a swift slice he opens his palm, and holds it out so everyone can see the black blood that soon drips from the wound. " _Leksa kom Trikru_ left me to die in that forest, not having the stomach to deliver the final blow herself. But I survived," and he turns to look at Lexa on her throne, the knife now pointed in her direction, "and I have returned to invoke my right to the throne."

It could be that Abby is distracted and Clarke can feel her fingers loosen slightly; it could be the knife pointed at the love of her life, or the consuming thundering of blood in her ears, or just that Roan fucking _deserves_ _it_. Whatever the reason, Clarke has had enough. She rips her arm from her mother's grasp and moves, far too fast for the guard in front of her to notice at first, across the several steps separating herself and Roan.

Clarke has never been a particularly good fighter, only a scrappy one. She's fast, but not as fast as Lexa. Strong, but not as strong as any of the warriors who had cornered and kidnapped her. She's been trained in various forms of combat, but is nowhere near as skilled as Kita or Ronnie. All the same, Clarke has something they don't: she's smart, and once she starts something it doesn't matter how difficult it is - she _will_ finish it.

The guard recovers himself just in time to grab for her, but manages only to catch the back of her jacket - which Clarke has already thrown off a second before his hand reaches her. Letting the coat fall behind her also brings her arm conveniently back to where she needs it, and with a fist closed the way Bellamy taught her, she swings with her entire body weight and punches Roan clean in the face.

It's incredibly satisfying to see the moment that he sees her coming, and know that there's nothing he can do to stop it. She can see it in his eyes, the way they widen in surprise just as he loosens his jaw in preparation of taking the hit. And yet, it is somehow more satisfying still to feel the crack of her fist against his skull, to feel his flesh absorb the impact and then hear something _snap_. He stumbles backwards with blood now streaming from his nose, flowing over his lip and staining his teeth as he gives a wild laugh. There's a commotion behind her but all she can focus on is him.

"Ah, _Wanheda!_ " He laughs, "That is quite the right hook you've got--"

She hits him again, her left fist already raised before he even starts talking, and intends to keep hitting him, keep hitting him until he _goes away,_ until he stops being a problem - but as she pulls her right hand back to do this, her knuckles already aching from the initial impact, a hand closes tightly around her wrist. She spins around, left fist raised again to hit whoever is trying to come between her and Roan...but it's Lexa's eyes that meet her, and they are hard.

"Control yourself," she says lowly, harshly, and does not let go of Clarke's wrist. Behind her the _Azgedan_ guard is climbing back to his feet, and Clarke quickly puts together that Lexa was responsible for putting him on the ground. Others had moved to intervene, the whole room now tense and ready, but all action ceased the moment Lexa caught her.

Clarke's breaths come in shallow bursts, adrenaline still causing blood to pump miles a second to every cell and nerve in her body. She can feel the anger clearly painted on her face as she meets Lexa's gaze. "He's alive, isn't he?"

The Commander doesn't respond. She just levels that hard look on her a moment longer before pushing Clarke's hand down. Releasing it, she places herself between Clarke and Roan, facing the other Nightblood with her hands folded behind her back.

"You have quite the watchdog there, Lexa," Roan says, propped up for a moment by Tumnas and Cole. He wipes the blood from his nose with one hand as he regains his feet...but it's with the hand that he cut open. Black blood smears across the bottom half of his face as he continues to grin wildly. "I could teach you how to muzzle her, if you like. I've done it before."

Clarke doesn't even blink before she's already moving, but Bellamy must have already been close or at least predicted her reaction. She gets not even a step before he's beside her. Both his hands rest on her shoulders in what appears to be a comforting sort of way, but is in fact a vice-like grip that stops Clarke in her tracks. She glares at Roan and clenches her fists, so hard she can feel her nails cutting into the palms of her hands, but otherwise makes no attempt to break free of Bellamy's hold on her.

Lexa doesn't so much as twitch to acknowledge that this happened.

"It has been five years, Roan," she says instead, forcing his leering attention to return to her. His knife is still in his uninjured hand, and she holds hers behind her back. "Why now?"

"We are facing an existential threat," he says, and looks over Lexa's shoulder at Clarke, then at Bellamy, then at Abby. As he does, other eyes in the room follow before all return to Lexa. "And the person pretending to be our Commander would rather lay down at our enemy's feet than fight them. Seems to me that means she's not much of a Commander."

A ripple of muttering runs through the gathered delegations, but no one moves to come between the two Nightbloods as they stare each other down. No one, that is, until Lexa says:

"Very well. I accept your challenge."

Bellamy's fingers dig painfully into Clarke's shoulder, as if he's nervous that she'll break out of his grasp. Not that she could, his hands are like iron - but she doesn't even test his strength, only turns, truly incredulous, to Lexa. " _What?"_

"You can't be serious," she hears Helena say.

"Commander, please," Titus calls, and his voice is closer than Clarke had expected, "be reasonable. These people are traitors, you have no reason to abide them."

"A Commander cannot ascend until the Conclave is over," Lexa repeats without looking away from Roan - and as she does, Nia smiles a truly wicked smile. "And a Conclave is not over until every Nightblood is dead. This has always been our way. I ignored that once, when I spared your life after you'd been injured by that boar. But I will not make that mistake again."

Titus stands beside Clarke now, his eyes and voice desperate as he says, "You do not have to do this, Lexa. Please, name a champion in your stead--"

" _Ai laik Heda!"_ Lexa roars, turning on him with fury in her eyes. " _Non na throu daun gon ai!"_

Titus shrinks back from her rage, as does most of the room. Silence reigns in the moment it takes her to turn slowly back around, eying every watching face in sequence with a fierce look in her eye.

"For weeks now, many of you have questioned my strength," she says, in that tone of voice that brokers no defiance. "Question no longer. If this coward wishes to attempt to steal what he could not rightfully take, then so be it. I will face you, _Roan kom Azgeda_." Lexa's face twists with hate as her eyes land on Roan again. " _Jus drien, jus draun."_

The color drains from Clarke's face at the words. She's worked so hard for so long to ensure this exact outcome would never occur. And yet here Lexa stands, willingly agreeing to it. "Lexa--"

She turns at the sound of her name, and in the moment that her eyes land on Clarke's the anger flickers out of them. That same wounded look reappears in her eyes, all regret and sorrow - but around them, the gathered delegations have picked up the chant. _Jus drein, jus draun, jus drein, jus draun._ It grows in volume until the words are on most people's lips, and Clarke can't get a word in otherwise.

Arrangements are made for a duel to take place two days from then, on the third afternoon. Proper preparations would not be made in time for anything prior to that, but there is little argument; _Azgeda_ would prefer the fight be sooner, but they have what they came here for and clearly couldn't be happier. With the decision made then, the crowd begins to break up. All of the chieftains and their delegations filter out - except for Helena, who hangs back with fury in her eyes, and Clarke. Knowing this, Lexa sheathes her dagger, folds her hands behind her back, and turns to face them.

"I know you must have questions--" she begins to say, but Helena is in motion even before she finishes turning around. The words are cut from Lexa's mouth as Helena's open palm flies across Lexa's cheek with a _crack_.

Lexa's head snaps to the side under the unexpected force of the slap, but her expression doesn't register surprise. Instead she slowly lifts her hand to her cheek, red and no doubt stinging, and says, "I deserved that."

"You're damn right you did," Helena grinds out from between her teeth. Her hands clench into fists at her sides. "What the _hell_ were you thinking??"

"You figured this out last night, didn't you?" Clarke stands off to the side, watching this exchange with her arms folded. She'd have liked to slap Lexa herself, but Helena doing it is just as well - not that it will actually smack any sense into her. "After Titus told you about Roan. You figured it out."

"Not immediately," Lexa hedges. Helena still stands between her and Clarke, but there's a clear line of sight between them. "But yes. I had a suspicion."

"You _knew_." Clarke's voice is like ice, even to her own ears, but she can't help it. "You knew what would happen today, all along, all through last night, all through that danc--" 

Clarke silences herself by biting down hard on her bottom lip. Lexa kept this from her on purpose. She thought they'd moved past that, but Lexa knew all night long and she just let Clarke...that train of thought and its inevitable conclusions makes her expression darken even further. "And now you've accepted this ridiculous challenge without a second thought. I've spent countless hours in service of preventing this, _we_ ," and now she indicates both Lexa and Helena with a sweep of her arm, "spent countless hours trying to prevent this!" Clarke doesn't care that she's shouting, and barely notices that she's made it several paces across the room and is now level with Helena. "What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?!"

"What needs to be done," Lexa answers evenly. She doesn't quail under the force of Clarke's anger, but that look of regret is back. Clarke's _fucking tired_ of seeing that look of regret. 

"We were working to prevent something that was preventable," she goes on, "but this - this is not. There can only be one Nightblood at the end of every Conclave. You know that," she says, looking at Helena, "as well as I. As long as Roan is alive, I cannot lay claim to the Flame."

"Then we'll kill him." Clarke shrugs, a nonchalant gesture that seems entirely out of place given the rest of her bearing. "You don't have to face him in single combat, there are plenty of ways to kill someone. Hell, I would enjoy killing him."

"Absolutely not." Lexa's response is immediate, and sharp. "You would make a coward out of me, and an enemy state out of the Sky People. What you are talking about is murder - assassination, even - and I will not allow it."

"You allow people to be executed by a hundred cuts, but you don't like the idea of _murder?"_ Clarke is close enough to touch Lexa, even takes a step forward fully into her space, but everything about her posture and expression screams her frustration. "You don't get to decide what I do, despite your near constant insistence on trying. You don't get to just agree to a trial by combat, where odds are just as good that you'll die as not, and then demand that I stand by and do nothing. You _lied_ to me." Her voice never breaks, but Clarke can feel a tear slide from the corner of her eye down the side of her nose. "You lied to me, Lexa. You knew about this, and instead of telling me suddenly it's all dancing in the moonlight and 'let's just have tonight' and _lies!"_

Somewhere in the midst of this, Helena drops back. They may be united in their anger with Lexa, but this is something else entirely. It's just as well, anyway; Lexa only has eyes for Clarke.

"Can you blame me?" she asks, and her voice is so quiet in comparison to Clarke's that it's almost a whisper. "Once this happened, once word of their plan got out, there was only one way it was going to go. The next two days will be spent the same as the last three weeks have been, and I wanted to make sure that I..."

Lexa grits her teeth a moment, a determined glint coming to her eye. "I can beat him, Clarke. I know I can. But in case I don't, I wanted to be sure I had one last night with you."

This isn't a revelation, by any means. Clarke knows why Lexa didn't tell her, why she chose to keep that information to herself until this morning. She knows, and she knew before, but she couldn't bear to acknowledge it. Couldn't stand the idea of even thinking the idea into a reality. And now hearing it out loud, her heart breaks.

It takes quite literally every ounce of self control Clarke possesses to stand her ground. To keep her voice and resolution strong, to keep from running into Lexa's arms, to keep her _fucking wits_ about her so that she can solve this unsolvable mess. "You better win," she finally says, as soon as she's confident her voice will carry the weight of the words without cracking, "because you owe me, now. You better win so that we can properly fight about this in two days. In the meantime, I'm not standing around while you make yourself a martyr."

"Clarke--" Lexa says, but Clarke is already moving. Tears blur her vision, but her feet are on autopilot because she can't, she _can't_ continue to be in this room and listen to how Lexa's voice cracks around her name. "Clarke, _please!"_

She thinks she hears footsteps behind her as the throne room door swings back shut, but a few harsh words from Helena puts an end to them. Clarke makes it almost all the way down the hall before Helena catches up to her.

"Come on," she says, and takes her hand. She leads Clarke down to her room, with its lingering perfumes and trappings of _Floukru,_ and as soon as she locks the door behind them she pulls Clarke into a tight hug.

Through all her time on Earth, Clarke has barely cried. Now and again she’s felt like it, of course, but she’s never let herself get much farther than a few stray tears before swiftly cutting that part of herself off. Clarke hasn’t had the luxury of tears in a long time, and if she had any control over herself now she would think the same of this moment. But the instant Helena’s arms close around her, Clarke’s control shatters. 

Tears cascade down her cheeks and though her sobs are relatively silent, they’re physically overwhelming. Her shoulders and arms shake, and if Helena wasn’t holding her so tightly she might well collapse back against the door.

"Shhh, Clarke, it's okay," Helena soothes, and rubs a gentle circle into Clarke's back with one hand. "She's an asshole, but we'll figure this out."

Clarke laughs, an odd sound mixed with the wet of her tears and the frustration she still feels, both at Lexa and now at herself for succumbing to a feeling of helplessness. “I guess we may have to knock her out and drag her out of here after all.”

"That is absolutely still an option," Helena laughs as well, giving Clarke a squeeze. "We brought a cart with us. I can have it ready within the hour."

“Something to keep in mind,” Clarke mutters. She extracts herself gently from Helena’s grasp and props herself up on the edge of the closest chair. It’s mostly wood with carefully positioned padding, more utilitarian than the ones in her room but not uncomfortable. Her fingers clenched around the hard wood feels comforting - grounds her in reality, in the task at hand. She heaves a few deep breaths before saying, “We have two days. Who knows, maybe between the two of us we'll come up with something that doesn’t involve giving Lexa brain damage.”

"I wouldn't hit her _that_ hard," Helena mutters indignantly, and crosses to a cabinet in a corner of the room. She pours a splash of whiskey for the both of them. "But fine, we can come up with a more elegant solution, I suppose. Why don't I send for your friends? Five heads are better than two, and it seems like they'd be sympathetic to our cause."

Clarke takes the whiskey Helena offers and nearly downs the whole thing. "Yeah," she says around the burn in her throat, "that's a good idea."

As Helena rings for assistance in calling her friends to her room - Clarke resists the urge to point out that they could just walk down the corridor and knock on their doors - a thought occurs to Clarke. Something she would've pointed out before now, if her entire world hadn't come crashing down around her just ten minutes ago.

"So how was the rest of your night? It looked like you and Raven..." Clarke lifts her glass and shrugs a little, as if she can't think of any other way to express it than: "Enjoyed yourselves."

Helena shuts the door after requesting whoever she's summoned summon Clarke's friends in turn, and throws Clarke a crooked grin that is both pleased and suggestive - a distinctly Helena look.

"We did _enjoy_ ourselves," she says, coming to sit sideways in the other chair. She kicks her legs up over one arm and leans back against the other. "I think we were both a little nervous, and definitely a little drunk. But I am nothing if not," Helena raises her whiskey, "dedicated." And drinks.

Clarke doesn't quite have it in her to laugh, but she chuckles and her smile is genuine. "That is one of the things I like most about you. Followed very closely by your apparently endless well of this stuff," and she sips up what's left of her own whiskey. 

"Your dedication plus Raven's...inventiveness," Clarke wrinkles her nose a little at the thought. Entertaining though it is, and as pleased as she is that Helena and Raven seem happy, it still evokes a mental image of two of her friends...together... Clarke shakes her head and holds out her now empty glass. "I'm going to need more of that."

"Of the whiskey? Or the sordid details?" Helena asks with a grin. Despite her question - and despite having just sat down - she pops back up without complaint and takes Clarke's cup. "Good thing I stock up on both while I'm here." As she goes to refill Clarke's cup however, there's a knock on the door. "Perhaps I'll save at least one of them for later, however..."

She opens the door to find Bellamy already there, and Raven and Octavia coming from down the hall. She steps aside to let them each in, but - perhaps tellingly - she only pours whiskey for Clarke. She offers wine to the others, who make no comment about drinking this early and happily accept.

They move the chairs closer to the foot of the bed in order to create more seating space. Clarke retains her chair and Bellamy takes the other, while Raven props herself up against the headboard, both legs stretched out. Helena takes a seat at the edge of the bed, facing Bellamy and Clarke, and invites Octavia to do the same - but Octavia, contrarian as ever, chooses to stand against a nearby wall. Until she gets tired, and finds a perch on top of one of Helena's chests.

"But I don't get it, like." Bellamy's brows are pulled together in a frown. "What can we do? If we convince the Queen or Roan or - whoever - to call off the fight, would that be enough? Would people just let it go?"

"No, they definitely wouldn't." Clarke's heart rate has slowed, thankfully. At least enough for her to think more clearly, and oddly the whiskey seems to be helping. "We don't have many options. It's possible we could find a Flamekeeper or two who would be willing to claim that Roan isn't who he says he is. It seems worth exploring, especially if we're able to get Titus to help us."

"Which we might be able to," Helena nods. "He will no doubt be feeling just as pressured to do something as we are. I hesitate to say that there is any kind of familial relationship between the two, but if Titus ever had a daughter-figure, it would be Lexa."

"But Lexa talked right to him," Octavia says from her corner. "This - Roan guy. She called him by name and everything. Why would she do that if she didn't think it was him?"

Clarke sighs. "She doesn't just think it's him, she knows it is. And so does Titus, I imagine. But maybe he has some strings to pull. I don't care whether it's the truth or not, so long as it works. Another option would be trying to convince Lexa to name a champion, but. That does seem unlikely, even more unlikely than any of our other ideas."

"I wouldn't do it," Octavia says with a shrug.

"No, and you two are more similar than you think." Clarke doesn't even bother acknowledging what she's certain will be a dramatic eye roll from Octavia, but turns her attention back to Helena. "I still think we oughta just kill him."

"That's murder," Raven points out, ever helpful.

"Assassination, more specifically," Helena adds.

Bellamy looks at Clarke. "Wouldn't be the first time," he says soberly.

She levels a serious gaze at him, the memory of that day in the Mountain overwhelming her senses for a moment. Killing their president hadn't felt like flipping the switch did. Her people were dying, and it was by his hands. She had to act, and eventually he became more potentially helpful dead than as a hostage. Clarke has barely thought about that moment since, the entirety of her guilt focused on the deaths of innocent lives. Dante had hardly been innocent.

"It would be murder. Or assassination, however we'd like to think of it," Clarke forces herself to acknowledge. As much as she hates Roan, so far he's only hurt her. At best, it would be a mix of revenge and protecting Lexa that would motivate her to kill him. Clarke doesn't exactly have a problem with that, but it seems better to avoid it if possible. "I'd rather it not come to that. There are too many ways for his death to be traced back to us or Lexa, either of which would defeat the purpose. But I'm not opposed to the idea, if we can find a way."

"Could poison him," Octavia suggests. "Put it in his food, or his drink. They might still suspect us then, but there'd be no hard evidence to trace it back. Especially if the poison can be gotten in Polis."

Tera's face immediately springs to Clarke's mind, and she's shaking her head before Octavia finishes speaking. "That might implicate the kitchen staff, who had nothing to do with all this. I don't want innocent people dying, and in any case _Azgeda_ will know that it wasn't some disgruntled serving hand that poisoned him. We almost have to prove - true or not - that it was someone specific..."

Clarke only just now notices that she's risen from her chair and has begun to pace. She thinks for several long seconds, but no solution comes to mind. "Fuck, this is infuriating! I would shoot him myself, if that would solve anything, but that very likely will result in a worse situation than we're in now."

"You could challenge him to a duel yourself," Raven says with a smirk. "When he comes out swinging his sword all fancy, you just shoot him."

Bellamy grins. "Indiana Jones-style."

Octavia makes a finger gun. " _Bang_."

Helena frowns and looks at Clarke. "What is happening?"

That actually does make Clarke laugh: though she keeps to herself that just for a moment she truly, seriously, considers that possibility. "It's a movie," she says to Helena, who looks just as confused as she had a moment ago. "Like a story, but played...on a screen...it's not important, it wouldn't work. As extremely satisfying as it sounds. They would claim I'd skirted the rules somehow, I'm sure. Bringing a gun to a knife fight and all that."

"Okay, but could a duel beforehand still work?" Raven asks, and now looks between Clarke and Helena. "Lexa wouldn't have to name a champion if we just get that person to fight Roan independently. Manufacture some insult that could provoke it."

"It...could work, theoretically," Helena shrugs. "I think we'd be hard pressed to convince Roan to stage it before the fight with Lexa, but..."

"Even if he would, unlikely as that seems, who could we pick?" Clarke rubs the bridge of her nose, as if that will stop the massive headache she can feel looming. "I could never ask that of someone, not that didn't already have some reason to want to fight Roan specifically."

"I'd do it," Helena says. 

Clarke can see Raven stiffen on the bed. Helena must be able to feel it through the mattress, because she turns to look at her. 

" _Azgeda_ took Costia from me," she adds, and looks back at Clarke. "I won't let them take Lexa, too. Plus, I hate his face."

"It was very punchable," Octavia hums. "Well done, Clarke."

The image of Roan's surprised expression just before Clarke, she's almost sure, broke his nose comes to mind, and it makes her smile. "Thank you, Octavia. I might be better with a blade now, but any punching skills I have you two can take credit for," and she gestures at both Blake siblings.

But the pleasure of the memory is short-lived as what Helena has just suggested sinks in. "I can't ask you to do that, Helena," Clarke says without hesitation, even as her stomach sinks. The _Floukru_ chieftain would be the perfect substitute, if that were at all a possibility - which it absolutely is not. "I know you have reason, but I won't have you risking your life that way. Besides, it would kill Lexa if you failed, if she lost you. I know it would."

"But it would be better than her dying, wouldn't it?" Helena asks. "If I lose, the Coalition doesn't immediately fall apart."

"I thought the whole point of this was to avoid people we like dying," Raven points out.

"And if you lose, Roan will still go on to fight Lexa," Bellamy says, shaking his head. "It just delays the threat, at the risk of another life."

"A life we happen to like quite a lot," Clarke locks eyes with Raven and nods. "We'll think of something else."

"I would appreciate it," the engineer mutters.

A few drinks later, they are still hardly better off than they were before - but with the clock against them, Clarke can't stand sitting still any longer. Octavia agrees to ask around among the tower staff about whatever plans Roan may have over the next two days, while Clarke and Helena go to speak to Titus. The Flamekeeper is, as Helena had predicted, much in the same boat as them; there is a desperation in his eyes that Clarke has never seen before, and he tells them that he has been debating strategies to stop this duel as well. He agrees to work with Helena to attempt the Flamekeeper angle. Knowing that most of the chiefs wouldn't have known Roan as a Nightblood - certainly wouldn't have known him well enough to recognize him as an adult - getting even one or two Flamekeepers to say that he may not be who he says he is could be enough to at least delay the fight. More than this, however, he shares the hope that there is some precedent forgotten to history that could help them, and Clarke volunteers to do the research he'd planned to do in the meantime.

As the only other person who knows Trigedasleng, Clarke hunts down Octavia and drags her to the library with her. The information she'd gathered about Roan's schedule is given to Raven and Bellamy, who take over the responsibility of tailing him around and determining any holes in security he may have that they might be able to exploit. Though Octavia's life on the ground is mostly physical now, having to live her entire childhood in secret on the Arc made her a deceptively good reader; even so, she and Clarke can find nothing of use in all the hours they spend looking through the dusty tomes and scrolls that represent the gathered history of the Grounders' culture. Helena's and Titus' efforts prove similarly fruitless, as even the sympathetic Flamekeepers have little doubt that this man is the same Nightblood they trained as a child and teen, and all are either outraged by the idea of lying or too afraid to do so. And when they reconvene later that night, Bellamy sports a bruised face that attests to the wrestling match he had challenged Roan to when coming across him in the training room. It had been conceived of as a test of Roan's mettle, and that test proved effective: Bellamy is a strong and skilled fighter in his own right, but Roan trounced him with relative ease.

"As...thoughtful, as that idea was," Clarke hands Bellamy a cold compress and pushes his shoulder, indicating he should lie back against the back of her bed, "you aren't half the fighter Lexa is. At least, not with a sword."

All five of them are back in the tower, this time in Clarke's room. They've long since pilfered dinner from Tera's kitchen and the hours stretch on into the night with no real progress being made. Everyone looks exhausted, Bellamy and Helena especially. Bellamy for his efforts at "sizing up" Roan, and Helena for the same reason Clarke is sure she looks like shit: they've lost a day, and have nothing to show for it.

Worse yet, she can see in every one of their eyes - and in hers, she is sure - a look that she saw first in Titus' eye earlier that day: mounting desperation. They are out of options.

But Clarke isn't about to admit defeat. She stays up through the night, running through plan after plan knowing that there must be something, _anything_ that they've missed. The others gradually drop off: somewhere after midnight, Helena turns in, and then Octavia. Bellamy nods off on her bed despite his valiant effort at staying up with her. Only Raven stays with her through it all, and is awake and by her side at the fire when Helena appears again with breakfast in the early hours of the following morning.

Some time in the night, Pip had made her way into the room and is now curled up by the fire. Curiously, Raven seems a little uncomfortable around the cat and gives her a wide berth. Poking fun at Raven for her odd aversion provided a welcome, nearly thirty minute respite from their sleepless night of planning. 

Fruitless planning, as it turns out. No matter what Clarke reads or what she comes up with, it's always useless. There is either no way to accomplish it or the fallout and potential for disaster are too great. She's never been unaware of the responsibility she bears for her people and the weight that comes with it, but she's never been so resentful of it as she is now. If only she could act as herself, instead of as a representative of her people. If only she could just walk down the stairs to Roan's room and shoot him in his bed, consequences be damned.  
  
But the consequences would extend far beyond her physical person, and there's no way around that reality that Clarke can see. It's enough to make her want to scream, and she did a couple times - albeit into a pillow. 

All of which means that when Helena steps into the room, bringing the distinct wafts of coffee and bacon and sugary pastries, both Raven and Clarke practically leap up from where they were sitting sprawled on the floor. Clarke takes exactly as much time as it takes to thank Helena before downing a cup of coffee while Raven reaches for a piece of bacon, her tired eyes now alight at the sight of the _Floukru_ chief.

"You didn't sleep?" Helena asks incredulously after commenting on their bedraggled appearance. A few feet away, Bellamy is still blissfully unaware of the world. "Clarke, are you insane?"

"I don't know why staying up all night constitutes insanity," Clarke mumbles around a bite of some flaky pastry that tastes like absolute heaven.

"Because it hasn't gotten you anywhere! Clarke," Helena sighs and shakes her head. "I don't know that this problem has a solution."

Clarke leans back in her chair and her head naturally falls against the back of it. Her eyes close of their own accord, but she says determinedly, "There is. There has to be. I just have to find it."

"And if there isn't?" Helena challenges. "Do you really think she'd want you to spend this time killing yourself over it?"

Clarke's neck protests as her head snaps back up, her eyes now wide and flashing with anger. "Seems appropriate, considering the stakes. Why shouldn't I spend all of my energy trying to help her?"

"Because at this point, helping her might mean being with her," Raven says, and Helena nods. Picking up the thread, Raven leans forward in her chair and says, "I think she might be right, Clarke. I know that when Finn died - not that Lexa is going to die," she's adds hastily. "But when Finn died, we spent...so much time, you and me, trying to find a way to prevent it. And knowing what I know now, I wish I could get even just an hour of that time back, to be with him and talk with him and just..."

Raven blinks rapidly for a moment and Helena, who sits cross-legged on the ground beside her, reaches up to place a sympathetic hand on her knee. The engineer looks down at it before covering it with her own and meeting Clarke's eyes again. "Maybe there's a way to stop this, and maybe we'll find it. But just in case we don't, you should be with her. The rest of us can figure this out."

Clarke is used to feeling conflicted: has spent nearly the entire last year feeling it in one way or another. But none of that has prepared her for this feeling. She can't stop trying to find a solution, can't bring herself to admit that there's no escaping this. That there's nothing she can do for Lexa but just _be with her_. But then, she's absolutely desperate to be with her. It's killing her not to be with Lexa right now, this very instant. It feels like being torn in two.

A not very subtle rumble from her still largely empty stomach prompts Clarke to sit back up. She takes something from the tray, some dried meat she can't immediately identify, but only turns it over slowly between her fingers. "There isn't a way, is there?" she whispers, not daring to look back up at Raven, to see the confirmation she knows is there in her friend's eyes.

Raven is quiet for a moment before saying, with sympathy heavy in her voice, "Sometimes, it's best to know when to quit."

"We'll keep at it here," Helena promises. "If there's a way to fix this, we will find it."

"Sure as hell your sleep-deprived ass won't," Raven teases.

Clarke snorts. Bellamy finally begins to stir on the bed in response to the sound. "That's...probably true," she doesn't even have it in her to argue. "You'll tell me? If you find anything?"

Helena nods. "You'll be the first to know. I'll find you myself, if I have to."

Clarke heaves a sigh. "Fuck. Okay. She's probably training now...what time is it?" She glances out her windows and is surprised to see the sun has risen to the upper half of the glass, indicating it's later in the morning than she expected.

Which means that when she makes here way down to the tower courtyard, the Nightbloods are already well into their training. Lexa is nowhere to be seen however, just the usual Flamekeeper training them without the careful eye and input of the Commander. She catches sight of Ronnie and Kita, both of whom look more solemn and distracted than usual, but leaves before they can notice her in return. They have surely heard the news by now - the whole city and half the Coalition probably has - and it would do no one any good to distract them further from their task. Though there's little doubt that the two of them are worried about Lexa, the outcome of the fight tomorrow carries a far different weight for the Nightbloods than it does for her. 

The thought makes her heart break all over again. She's quick to shove those feelings away before they can overtake her.

After nearly an hour of looking, Clarke still comes up empty. The training room inside the tower is unoccupied, as is the throne room and Lexa's bedroom. Even Elena, whom Clarke tracks down after some effort, hasn't seen the Commander since she finished training early that morning. It's only then that it occurs to Clarke where she might be, and she stops in the kitchen to collect some food before she heads out into the city.

The library is quiet as ever, but there is a certain pall over the silence today that wasn't there yesterday. The library's attendants give her wane smiles as she passes, and she spots Titus at the long table in the archives that she and Octavia occupied just hours ago. The Flamekeeper must feel her eyes, because he looks up and directly at her - and upon recognizing her, levels a glare at her the likes of which she's never seen from his sleep deprived eyes. There's something about it that makes the hair rise on the back of her neck, and she quickly moves on.

In the back room, the same small room they had occupied months ago, she finds Lexa sitting on the ground in front of the fireplace. Though Clarke doesn't mean to sneak up on her, the Commander is startled by the squeak of a floorboard beneath her foot, and shoots to her feet. The blanket she wears hangs from her shoulder like a cape for half a second, whirling out behind and around her as she spins around in the same motion - and only after it drops does Clarke see the sword Lexa has in her hand. Her left hand holds the sheath while the right prepares to draw the blade...but upon seeing Clarke, Lexa's shoulders relax.

"This seems an odd place to bring a sword," Clarke says with a smirk that doesn't quite reach her eyes. She sits down in the middle of the closest couch and shrugs a bag off her shoulder. "I didn't know weapons were allowed in the library."

"They aren't," Lexa says with a sigh, and slides the inch of steel she'd exposed back into the sheath with a click. "But under the circumstances, it seemed worth it to make an exception." 

She lowers her arms to her sides, letting the sheathed weapon hang from her left hand. She eyes the bag, and then Clarke, warily. "I did not think I would see you here."

Clarke takes the food she'd grabbed from the kitchen out of the bag, slowly spreading it all out across the table, and resolutely avoids looking up as she speaks. "I know. I'm sorry, for yesterday. How I handled things, I was just angry, and...scared. I'm still scared. I thought I could do something, and maybe I still could be doing something, but I couldn't stand the idea of you being alone...and I couldn't stand being without you, despite what I continue to think was a rash and idiotic decision that I do not entirely forgive you for."

Lexa responds to that with only a soft " _hm_ " at first, but when Clarke quickly glances up it’s to find a small smile on her lips. Nevertheless, she doesn't move. "I see. Well, I appreciate the warning."

The couch makes a soft creaking sound as Clarke finally leans back. Bits of food and snacks are laid across the table, as well as a skin full of water. She wasn't about to bring wine, no matter how obviously Tera suggested that Lexa might better "relax" if she had some. "We don't have to talk, if you don't want to," Clarke says quietly, and forces herself to meet Lexa's eyes. "We can just read or I can stay over here while you sit by the fire, or whatever you want."

The Commander weighs that for a few moments, the ambient sounds of the library's cavernous space and the crackling of fire the only sounds. Then her grip tightens around her sword, and she brings it with her to sit on the floor opposite Clarke. 

"I wanted to tell you," she says quietly. She rests the hilt of her sword against one thigh, but otherwise doesn't move.

"Then why didn't you?" Clarke asks, just as quietly. Speaking any louder would sound like a shout in this space, but she couldn't raise her voice if she wanted to.

Instead of answering, Lexa studies Clarke's face. She looks from one eye to the other, across Clarke's cheekbones and lips. "You haven't slept, have you?"

"I don't understand why everyone seems so concerned with that," Clarke huffs, realizing too late that she's confirmed that she, in fact, hasn't slept. "I've gone plenty of nights without sleep."

"I know you have. A number of them have been on my behalf." Lexa smiles thinly, and looks down. "And you have to ask why I lied."

"I know why, I just..." Clarke sighs, defeat heavy in the sound of it. "I don't like being lied to. You promised you wouldn't. So if the other night is what you needed, to do this, then. I guess I can understand that. But you can't use me as an excuse. Don't tell me you lied for me, because you lied for you."

"I know I did." There is no hesitation or hedging in Lexa's voice, nor any in her eyes when she meets Clarke's again. "It was an entirely selfish decision, I admit that freely. But I could not stand the thought of ruining that night with worrying about something that cannot be helped. I know that that is...an impossibly selfish thing to ask of you, but I..." Lexa blinks rapidly and looks away again, but not before Clarke spies the tears forming in her eyes. "If it was going to be my last chance to see you like that, so...happy, and radiant, I..."

"You wanted it to last as long as it could," Clarke finishes for her, and her voice breaks a little at the end. Tears threaten to well up in her eyes as well, but she swallows the impulse. She refuses to cry anymore. "I understand. I wish you'd confided in me. I wish you'd had time to confide in me, I guess is the more fair thing to say. But Roan declaring himself could only result in this, I see that. I just can't sit back and let this happen, I have to...well, I couldn't. I guess that's exactly what I'm doing now."

"I am so sorry, Clarke," Lexa says, and though her voice is all but a whisper, it's saturated with pain. "I wish it didn't have to be this way. If I could spare you this, I would."

“I know. Because I would do the same. If I were only responsible for myself and you...” a small, sad smile quirks the edges of Clarke’s mouth. “But I think we both know it will never be that way.”

Lexa doesn't respond to that. Instead she takes a moment to compose herself, the tears receding from her eyes, and looks up at Clarke. "Can I sit with you?"

“Yes, please,” and the words come out in a rush of relief Clarke might at any other time feel embarrassed by.

Lexa's smile does look amused, but there's relief in her eyes as well. She stands in one fluid motion, comes around the table, and leans her sword against one arm of the couch. As soon as she sits down beside her, Lexa wraps one arm around Clarke's shoulders and pulls her into a hug.

“Lexa,” Clarke whispers in a breath, as if she’s been deprived of the word for months. Her arms wrap tightly around her and she buries her face instinctively into Lexa's neck, breathing in the smell of her skin.

Fingers push up into Clarke's hair as Lexa pulls her all the tighter. "I love you, Clarke," she breathes, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "I won't let them separate us. I won't."

Clarke doesn’t bother pointing out the obvious: that Lexa can’t promise that. That there’s a chance she’ll die and leave Clarke alone to pick up the pieces. Instead she just hugs her tighter, and only lets her go when she realizes it must have been several minutes that they’ve been embracing on the couch in the middle of the library.

“I don’t have anything to read,” Clarke observes, and chuckles at the absurdity of it even as she wipes her eyes of tears. “What are you reading, anyway?”

"Ah...poetry, actually." It looks like it takes Lexa a moment to come back from wherever her mind had gone. When she does, she lifts a hand to help brush away Clarke's tears. "Can I get you something? I can find just about anything here."

“Poetry, really?” Clarke is hesitant to move any farther from Lexa than she is, but settles for scooting down on the couch until her head rests in Lexa’s lap. “Why don’t you read it to me? We can even switch off, if you want. Though I’m terrible at reading out loud, fair warning.”

"That...is an oddly specific thing to be terrible at," Lexa chuckles. "But alright. I would be happy to."

“Our schools make you do that, when you’re a kid. Read out loud, I mean.” Clarke waves a hand lazily, her eyes already closed as she nestles into a comfortable position. “Anyway. I’m sure you’re amazing at it, like everything else.”

"I certainly don't mind being amazing at everything. However...the book is over there," and Lexa points to where her blanket still is.

Clarke makes a dramatic, aggravated sound and swings her legs back over the couch to fetch the book. When she returns, she can’t help but stop and give Lexa a kiss. “Anything else, while I’m up?” she asks, quietly against Lexa’s lips.

"Mm," Lexa hums, brushing Clarke's hair back behind her ear. "Just more of those, if you don't mind."

Clarke allows her a handful more kisses before she resumes her place in her lap, and Lexa picks up her book. She finds the place she left off, and begins reading.

"There will be time, there will be time  
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;  
There will be time to murder and create,  
And time for all the works and days of hands  
That lift and drop a question on your plate;  
Time for you and time for me..."

Her voice is low but strong, and before long the steady rhythm of her words lulls Clarke into a kind of peaceful trance she hasn't known since she last fell asleep in Lexa's bed. Her eyelids grow heavy, becoming harder and harder to lift each time she blinks, and before she knows it she's asleep.

When Clarke wakes, it’s with a jolt. Her sleep was restful - void of dreams, which is a change of pace. But she has no idea how long she’s been asleep. Her fingers grope behind and beneath her head for Lexa, whom she finds exactly where she left her. 

“I’m so sorry,” Clarke mumbles, her mouth thick with sleep. “I didn’t mean to fall...how long was I out?”

"Two hours, give or take," Lexa says nonchalantly. Her book sits on the arm of the couch, as one hand has been entwined with Clarke's and the other now brushes hair across her forehead. "Do you feel any better?"

"Two hours?" Clarke's limbs twitch with the force of her desire to spring up, but she makes herself stay still. Lexa's fingers pause at her ear, and then continue moving around her hairline and back up her cheek. "Napping was not part of my plan," she grumbles, even as she leans into Lexa's touch, "but I do feel better."

"Then it was necessary," the Commander hums in return. "Besides - you won't be doing any good reading out loud if you can't keep your eyes open."

Clarke rolls her eyes and lets out a long-suffering sort of sigh. "Oh fine. But don't make fun of me if I trip over words."

Lexa hands over the book and Clarke proceeds to read aloud, softly and slowly. It gets easier as she goes, and becomes surprisingly enjoyable after the first few fumbled attempts. Reading poetry almost seems easier than reading a novel out loud, with all the opportunities for breaks at periods and commas and whatever other punctuation the poet sprinkles in. It also encourages her to read slowly, which is the only way she can manage without tripping up.

Lexa is quiet for the duration, though Clarke gets the sense that it isn't merely a respectful silence. She shifts a little lower on the couch, forcing Clarke to lift her head and readjust so her head is closer to the junction of Lexa's hip and thigh. This lets Lexa rest her head back a little on the couch cushions, and when Clarke glances up while turning a page, she sees that Lexa has closed her eyes. Her breathing is measured, but not the unconscious kind of deep breathing that comes with sleep. She is settled, peaceful - meditative, even.

She interrupts Clarke occasionally to ask her to repeat a line, or to ask her how she interprets another. On those occasions they talk for a time in soft tones, but Lexa is otherwise silent. If it weren't for the cadence of her breathing and the light scratch of her fingers against Clarke's collar bone, she might have drifted off herself.

That peace is interrupted when footsteps herald the arrival of someone approaching behind them, but Lexa makes no move to whirl to her feet or grab her sword this time. And for good reason: from around the back of the couch, Titus' head appears.

" _Heda,_ " he greets. 

Lexa doesn't even open her eyes. " _Not now, Titus,_ " she tells him in Trigedasleng. The Flamekeeper presses his lips into a thin line in response, his eyes turning on Clarke momentarily. They are, perhaps, less friendly yet than they were when she came in.

" _Is this wise, Commander?"_ He asks, returning his attention to Lexa, who still doesn't open her eyes. " _You should--_ "

"You have made your opinion known already," she answers in English. "Please, not now."

There is a wild look in Titus' eye in response to this, and again he looks at Clarke. But whatever words he clearly wishes to unleash he keeps to himself; folding his hands into his sleeves, he inclines his head and leaves.

"I don't think that man is ever going to like me," Clarke muses, her neck craned back to see Lexa. "For a moment there, I thought we were getting along better."

"You are," Lexa answers, and breathes a weary sigh. "You are both convinced that there is a way out of this." Now she cracks an eye open to look down at Clarke. "Or were, anyway."

Clarke's muscles tense at that. "I'm not unconvinced. But I was convinced that my time would be better spent with you, and...trusting you. Than it would be rooting around in old books or doing something decidedly rash and unhelpful."

That draws a chuckle from the Commander, who pulls her hand back to run her fingers over the edge of Clarke's ear. "I do appreciate that. Both because I would rather you avoid doing rash things in general, but also..." Her eyes drop to watch her fingers for a beat before returning to Clarke's. "I was afraid I wouldn't see you until just before, or...right after. I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad I am too." Clarke turns her head and kisses the inside of Lexa's hand. "I don't know how I can be helpful to you before tomorrow, but I'm here."

Lexa's hand finds Clarke's, and she gives it a squeeze. "That is help enough."

They while away time at the library, poking around the stacks and picking at the snacks Clarke brought with her. There is no hesitation when it comes to sharing blankets today; when they return with more books to share, Lexa pulls Clarke in between her legs and drapes one over the both of them. With her back against the couch arm and Clarke's against her chest, both are propped up enough to eat and read and chat. They manage to find a small slice of normalcy in the quiet of the library, a moment of sanctuary before the storm descends on them tomorrow. That slice does involve the occasional round of kissing - including one in which, fed up with the Commander's teasing, Clarke turns, straddles, and pins her down to get her retribution - but, as all good things must, even this comes to an end. The pair are driven out of the library in the late afternoon by rumbling tummies and Clarke's empty bag.

They cover their heads with scarves and linger in the shadows of the library's facade until they can safely step into and blend with the crowd. Lexa leads the way and Clarke follows, now with much greater ease than the first time. Her familiarity with the way Lexa moves helps her anticipate where she'll go. They make a quick stop at the nearest marketplace to pick up food - the first time Clarke has ever seen the Commander engage in an activity as simple as shopping - before they head to the park to find a quiet place to sit together.

Clarke quickly learns that her knowledge of the park and the best places to sit far outranks Lexa's. Clearly she needs to get out more, which Clarke is all too happy to point out as she finds the ideal tree for them to sit against. Not too far from the tower, but off in a corner behind a larger tree that will give them as much privacy as eating out in the open will allow.

Lexa produces the food, which Clarke quickly identifies as purposeful given the trial ahead. There are a conspicuous amount of carbohydrates - sandwiches, rolls, and something else she can't identify that looks like some form of pasta. Water, protein, and almost nothing else. Clarke made it clear that Lexa should choose whatever she wanted, whatever is best for her and her body, and when she takes a bite she's surprised at how tasty the seemingly simple sandwich is.

The selection process has returned a sense of solemnity to their interaction, with Lexa clearly once more preoccupied with the events of the next day. Clarke does her best to draw her out of it, however, and after some time succeeds. They eat and chat (and yes, kiss some more) until the sun sets, and the relative warmth of this early spring day fades into a chilly night that still carries the dregs of winter. That chill drives them back to the tower, where they decide to spend one last night in Lexa's room.

Clarke has little interest in leaving Lexa's side for even a moment, however, so when they take the old, hidden lift up to the ambassadors' level she tugs Lexa back from the stairwell and towards her room. She has enough left over from dinner that she can leave Pip some food for the next day - assuming she chooses to stay down here, as she now seems to almost prefer Lexa's room to Clarke's - but is in need of a change of clothes as well.  
  
So she opens the door and leads the way into the room...only to find Titus standing on the opposite side.

And then suddenly, everything happens very quickly. She catches only a glimpse of Titus raising an arm before - _bang_ \- a spray of fire, a ringing in her ears. The doorframe beside her explodes in a spray of splinters and she recognizes then the item in Titus' hand as a gun. As _her_ gun, the one Bellamy had given her last he was here and she has left under her bed ever since.

Clarke doesn't think, only relies on her body to act - which is exactly what happens. Clarke surges forward even as she feels Lexa move next to her and grab at her arm. She can feel Lexa's weight shift behind her as she loses her hold on Clarke. Titus hesitates, but in the second before Clarke can reach him she can see his finger pull back on the trigger. She's able to reach his arm, push it even just slightly away before...

_BANG_.  
  
The sound, impossibly deafening even these few steps closer to it, explodes in Clarke's right ear as she crashes into Titus. They fall to the ground with a heavy thud. Clarke scrambles to her knees over him and grabs at the gun, expecting resistance but experiencing none - the Flamekeeper freely gives up the weapon, his entire body shaking as his face twists into one of agony. Clarke's stomach drops as she guesses what she'll find when she turns to follow his gaze behind her, even as she hopes - begs, really - that it isn't true.

Lexa hadn't said anything. Hadn't made a sound - and doesn't now, even as her hands close over the right side of her abdomen. She presses her palms there, grits her teeth...and only as blood begins to spill through her fingers does she let out a wet, choked grunt. She drops to one knee and must use both hands to catch herself on the ground, and in the process reveals the pitch black wound of a bullet hole.

Clarke leaps backward, she isn't even sure how, and drops the gun without a thought in favor of catching Lexa. And she's just in time - the Commander's muscles give out within seconds and she collapses into Clarke's arms. 

"Lexa..." Clarke's voice sounds distant to her own ears, like it's being spoken by someone else or through a shroud of fog.

" _Heda..._ " She hears Titus say behind her. His voice shakes as Trigedasleng babbles out of his mouth. " _Leksa - I'm sorry, I didn't mean - it was supposed to be her..._ "

Lexa's hands catch in Clarke's jacket, clinging to her, twisting tight in its fabric with blood-slick hands as she struggles to keep herself even half upright. "Clarke..." She forces out, the name a grunt of pain. Somehow, she manages to flash a smile. "Wasn't supposed to...happen like this..."

" _NO_." Clarke doesn't know if she screams the word or if it comes out as a whisper. Her mind races, trying to put together the pieces of what's just happened and _act_. The wound in Lexa's side, Clarke knows, is small, but it's impossible to conceive of that when there's so much blood. So much...Lexa's shirt and the top of her pants are already stained black with it. Abdomen wounds are notoriously hard to heal, even from knives. A bullet would tear through her like paper.

Clarke is panicking, she can tell. Her heart rate has leapt to so many beats per second she couldn't keep track if she tried, and blood pounds in her ears. Well, her left ear. She can barely hear anything out of her right. None of this registers as a problem, however. The only concern she has is Lexa, who is now wavering under Clarke's grasp.

" _If she died...if everyone thought the Sky People were responsible..._ "

"Clarke, listen to me," Lexa says, a hand now grabbing at the collar of Clarke's jacket, desperate to make herself understood even as her voice cracks. "You have to get out. Your people. You have to leave, do you understand?"

Clarke is only half listening. Her attention shifts as Titus speaks, and suddenly anger the likes of which she's never felt surges through her. The phrase 'blind with rage' seemed like something people only wrote about in stories - a hyperbole to emphasize the torrents of fury the character was feeling. But now Clarke can confirm that the idea is very, very real.

Before she can think, Clarke picks up the discarded gun at her side and points it straight at Titus. Her vision is blurred and tinged with red and grey, from tears and fury and possibly the blood pounding behind her eyes. "Why..." Clarke's voice is breathy and quiet, but she's confident he can hear her. "Why? How the _fuck_ could you miss?" Her hand shakes but her grip is like iron around the gun, her finger nearly touching the trigger. " _I_ _was right fucking in front of you!_ "

The man is still on the ground, his back propped up against a chair that was knocked over in the initial scuffle. His face is streaked with tears that are still falling, but even as his lip quivers and nostrils flare and contract, he locks hate-filled eyes with Clarke. "I would rather it was you," he growls, his lip pulling back. "Believe me, _Wanheda._ " And he spits the word.

Clarke's finger closes on the trigger, but before she can depress it she hears a shift from behind her.

"Clarke..." Lexa's voice is faint, fainter than before, and the grip she still has on Clarke's jacket loosens. "Plea..." 

She turns just in time to see Lexa's eyes roll back into her head, the hand on her jacket slipping away entirely as the Commander loses consciousness.

Clarke doesn't hesitate. She drops the gun, her anger forgotten as she catches Lexa before she falls. It's clumsy and Clarke's hands are slippery with Lexa's blood, but she manages to catch her head and shoulders before they hit the ground. Just as she does, as the implication of Lexa lying there unconscious, a bullet in her gut, brings Clarke's heart to what feels like a dead stop, the door to her room crashes open.

"What...the hell?" 

Bellamy stands in the doorway - then Octavia, then Kane, then Abby. The second she sees Lexa and Clarke on the ground, Abby shoves her way through and kneels beside them.

"What happened?" She asks urgently, pulling a cardigan from her shoulders and pressing it in a bunch over the wound in Lexa's stomach.

At the sight of her mother, Clarke's healer instincts finally kick into gear. She still feels...everything, just everything, but at least her hands shake less as she grabs a small box out of her jacket pocket. "I'll tell you later. We have to get her out of the city. _We_ have to get out of the city." She looks up just long enough to catch eyes with Bellamy. "Get Raven. We're leaving, now."

Bellamy nods and without question turns to go. Octavia is at his elbow, however, and stops him with a hand pressed to his chest.

"Go get the truck," she tells him. "Kane and I will get the others."

They disperse, but that isn't the end of their problems. "How do we get her out?" Abby asks Clarke. "Everyone will see if we use the lift, and I doubt we'll be let through when they do."

"There's a hidden passageway, with its own lift." Clarke speaks as she works. While her mother uses a knife she produces from who knows where to cut Lexa's shirt, Clarke's fingers, surprisingly deft given the circumstances, stretch the ball of thin, plastic film from her emergency med-kit to its full length. "I know the way to the training yards, we can meet up with Bellamy there. Assuming the truck is housed close by." 

Clarke hands one side of the plastic to her mother, who seems to know exactly what to do without Clarke having to say a word. They quickly wrap Lexa's torso with it, as tightly as possible without breaking the stuff. It's not much, but it holds her wound together and somewhat stems the loss of blood. Hopefully it will last at least until they can get her downstairs. After that, she'll have to think of something else.

Their present problem is moving Lexa without exacerbating the wound in any way, a task that would be easier if Clarke had a dozen more pounds of muscle on her...or a stretcher. She turns to look for something to fashion one out of, and notices only then that Titus is nowhere to be seen. Somewhere in the last however many minutes, he must have fled the scene.

She ultimately grabs one of the blankets from the bed and spreads it out beside Lexa. She and Abby transfer her to it, and by then Raven and Kane have returned.

"Octavia is getting the others, she says they'll follow in the other buggies," Kane says, stooping to pick up the side of the blanket at Lexa's feet. Abby lifts the side by her head. "But right now, we need to go. People are starting to figure out something is up."

Clarke is loathe to leave Lexa's side even for a second, but she lets Abby and Kane, assisted somewhat awkwardly by Raven, take care of moving Lexa as she leads the way back down the dignitaries floor to the hidden doorway. She remembered to grab her pack, and as she reaches the door something occurs to her. The fallout from this hasn't fully hit her yet, but she knows how bad it could be - how impossible to resolve, potentially, it could be.

"It's right through here. Raven, start the lift. I'll be back in ten seconds, but don't wait," and without any further explanation she races back down the hallway.

It doesn't take her long to find Helena's door. Clarke fumbles for only a moment before she finds the communicator Raven had given her months ago. She shoves it under the door, thanking luck and every god she can think of that it fits, and then bolts back to the passageway.

The lift is already in motion when she arrives but it's slow and uncovered, and Clarke can easily drop the two or so feet onto it. The wait on the way down is excruciating; in the dark everyone is on edge, and the creak of the lift is accompanied by the occasional anguished groan from Lexa. It is reassuring to hear, in some ways - it means she's still breathing - but the agony it betrays breaks Clarke's heart. The preciousness of every passing second is put squarely into perspective, and it's everything she can do to keep it together as they crawl downwards.

By the time they reach the courtyard, Bellamy has pulled one of the buggies up. They load Lexa into the back and Abby, Kane, and Clarke cram themselves in around her. Bellamy takes the driver's seat, and Raven the passenger. The streets are relatively empty at this point in the night, more so the further from the tower they get, and she can navigate them out of the city with relative ease.

The instant Clarke is sitting and able to use her hands, she examines the remaining items in her tiny med-kit. It's all they have until they reach Arkadia, and it's not much. Most things won't do any good - even the bandage inside seems more for sprained muscles than actual wounds. But then she finds the coiled, hollow tube and two capped needles.

Immediately she goes to work, ignoring her mother's questions. The needles fit snuggly on either end of the tube, as Clarke hoped they would, and it doesn't take her too long to find a vein in Lexa's arm. The Commander makes a strained moan-type sound as the needle slides beneath her skin.

Clarke shrugs out of her jacket and rolls back her own sleeve, and tourniquets herself. She's done this dozens of times before, hundreds even. Clarke is a universal donor, and anyone with that status on the Ark was required to donate blood routinely. But before she can stick herself with the other end, Abby grabs her bicep.

"We don't know what's different about her blood," she says quickly. "If she has a bad reaction--"

"Mom, look at her."

Lexa is breathing short, shallow breaths and her skin is pale and shiny with sweat. Abby found a first aid kit in the buggy and has been making quick work of replacing the plastic wrap from Clarke's kit with real tape and bandages. But even now, after just a few minutes, black oozes up through the white cloth around the wound. "I've done this a million times. You taught me that it's my responsibility to give blood to those who need it. Lexa needs it. We have hours to go, even with Bellamy driving like this," her point is made with a well placed bump in the road that sends anyone not holding onto one of the railings sprawling, "she won't make it to Arkadia. She'll die before we get there."

Abby continues to look at her, concern and indecision in her eyes...but there are no Nightbloods around, and no lab to run lightning fast tests to figure out what could be different between Lexa and Clarke's blood. She lets go of Clarke's arm.

"Keep a close eye on her - and on yourself," she says resignedly, and returns to her work.

Clarke nods and immediately pushes the needle into her arm. She hits a vein, thankfully - every second she spends struggling to set this makeshift transfusion up is another second Lexa loses blood. Red oozes, not quickly but consistently down the tube. Clarke keeps her arm above her head and fingers wrapped around one of the rails above her. Her grip is naturally tight, keeping herself upright as the buggy bounces over rocky terrain meant more for horses than vehicles, and she flexes her arm muscles now and again to keep the flow of blood constant.

It seems to work. For how long, Clarke has no idea, but a little bit of color comes back to Lexa's face. Abby is still working to keep control over the bleeding when the Commander's head shifts. It's a small shift, just a slight tip to the side, and Clarke initially thinks it a result of the bouncing. But then Lexa's eyelids twitch - once, then a second time - and Clarke finds herself holding her breath when she sees a sliver of green.

Lexa opens her eyes, just a little, but it's enough for Clarke to see that she's still in there. It's clear that she's having trouble focusing them, but when they find Clarke...she smiles.

"Hey," Clarke's voice cracks as tears spring to her eyes. She leans forward as far as she can with her hand still wrapped around the railing and cups Lexa's cheek, turning her head a little farther toward her and away from Abby’s continued ministrations on her side. "You're safe, my love. We're taking you home to fix you up."

Lexa's lips move, but a croak is all that comes out. The hand closest to Clarke lifts and, clumsily and with more force than necessary, finds its way to her cheek. Her fingers are caked and stained black with dried blood, but they find momentary purchase on Clarke's skin as Lexa closes her mouth, swallows.

" _Ai Etwai,_ " she chokes out, and her body flinches in response to something Abby does but still Lexa is smiling. And then that moment passes; her hand goes limp and she falls unconscious again.

Clarke's chest heaves with the force of her heartbeat, thundering in her chest as if it could burst out at any second. She glances up at Abby, who watches this exchange with an impassive expression. Clarke is tempted to say something - what, she doesn't know. She wishes she could rush into her mother's arms and sob until she didn't have the energy to anymore, she wishes she were literally anywhere but here, doing anything but this. 

It feels like a dream, seeing Lexa like this. Even this morning, when she was forcing herself to prepare for the worst, she never imagined this. It's every nightmare she's ever had come true, and it's all she can do to keep her bearings. Keep herself upright, keep moving.

"Wet that towel with this," Clarke says instead, and hands the waterskin from her bag over to Kane. The towel in question is lying near Kane’s foot, discarded from the first aid kit. "Keep it against her forehead. She'll develop a fever soon."

Kane takes the towel and nods his understanding, but otherwise says nothing. If Abby is impassive, he looks as though that exchange all but broke his own heart.

As he delicately lays the cloth across Lexa's forehead, Abby watches with gritted teeth. Then she turns and practically shouts at Bellamy: "Faster!"

The engine roars its protest, and the thick tires of the truck kick up gravel and dirt as they skid over roots and other refuse on the forest floor. They speed onward into the darkness, with only the headlights and Raven's navigation to guide them, and the racing of time against them. Above them the stars, spread out against the sky, watch on.


End file.
